fighting downstairs. join me tonight to hear their makeup sex. also, let's make skittles vodka.
I feel like I got hit by a truck made out of Jack Daniels.
Only you could turn Mozart into a stripper song.
What happened at the top of the stairs is never to be spoken of again.
Just woke up to find myself cooking eggs on the imaginary stove in my room.
I gave ten strangers a full description of his penis and its abilities. I need to stop drinking.
I've never seen a grown man cry so much after getting jerked off by a stripper. I say it's the best $600 he ever spent.
He is now tagging himself in my pics from last year where he is barely visable in the corner. i feel like he's marking his territory.
The last thing I remember is your grandma calling me a pussy and taking my shot for me. Your family is awesome.
I was basically shocked at how calmly you accepted my violently shoving a french fry in your mouth.
You kept going up to guys in plaid and screaming "are you a lumberjack" in their faces
when I went into his room, he was sleeping on his stomach, almost as if to silently say, "you're not touching my dick tonight".
I'm so incredibly high right now the fact I am texting is nothing short of miraculous. Call the Pope. Hell make me Saint Roy, patron of stoners.
If I die here, tell my vagina and my cats that I'm sorry.
It shouldn't be this hard to find someone who you haven't blown.
Randomize
