so Brent and I ordered you a drink then realized you don't live here. I drank it.
just balanced a champagne glass on my gut. thanks to beer im a living breathing tempur-pedic mattress.
He says he's "masters drunk." And if that's anything like "kentucky derby drunk" I know enough to not go over there.
I can practically hear my vag and my conscience fighting.
Making and watching you take a mixed shot with vodka, chocolate syrup, tobasco sauce, cranberry juice, and sundried tomato juice wasnt the highlite of my night. Hearing you puking from downstairs was.
the boat had a sign not to jump off the roof of it, which gave us the idea to jump off the roof of it
Lol. No. We cannot eat chicken while we have sex. No.
This bitch flirting at the bar needs to close her legs and open up a book. I can literally feel my IQ dropping every time she bends down to show her tits.
Jealous?
Very.
I was stumbling so much, men walking behind us were shouting "don't hit the pole! don't hit the pole!" whenever I was near a telephone pole.
I'm sorry for biting your husband's ass last night.
He's going to be my graduation present to myself.
The fact that I am laying in bed on my stomach with an ice pack on my rump is a clear indication that I am no longer in my carefree 20s
gay sex achievement: unlocked
what
you told me you were going out for groceries!!
For someone who wanted a break I'm getting way to much dick
The gate guard just said to me, "I almost didn't recognize you in uniform. Welcome back." I think I need to lay off the booze.
Randomize
