Your mouth is God's brothel.
do you think you could subtly ask him about the dimensions of his penis?
He has crabs, not bed bugs. I recommend incoporating a clinic on this mornings walk of shame route.
Someone wrote Kyle's bitch on me too. I dont even know who Kyle is.
Struggs. It's also 90 degrees out but I'm not sure I can feel heat or cold any more. Too hungover.
We just ended up getting drunk and doing field sobriety tests on each for practice... No one remembers who passed.
You know you're at a low point when you're sucking vodka out if your hair.
it's like I can see my whorish nature reflected back at me in his wedding ring.
Suddenly I feel like all I did this summer was have sex in our apartment
After the party last night, I dreamt I continued drinking... Apparently my subconscious didn't think I'd had enough...
I smoked that joint really fast and now I'm so high I'm crawling around on all 4 giving my dogs piggie back rides pretending its the macy day parade for dogs and I'm their giant human float.
Just remembered I railed lines while holding a puppy
He finger blasted me like an angel dude
I don't care if he's the coolest coworker, if he's living in his mom's basement at 30 you should not buy drugs from him
And you know what the worst part is? Because of him I can now relate to a goddamn Taylor Swift song. FUCK. MY. LIFE.
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