Your lack of dick hurts my anus. I hate your loverboy tactics.
What's wrong?
Long week. Sore muscles. Bad back. Hangover. Mini-keg. Crazy ex-wife. Unavailable love-interest. Dead celebrity families. Republicans.
Pussy.
Princesses don't give blow jobs
I just peed on my pajamas. Its gonna be a long night. Don't forget the cookies.
There's a pair of socks on the bar. No-one's questioned this.
Do your friends by chance have our inflatable deer head?
Nevermind, it's in the dryer.
I vaguely remember walking down the highstreet with a plate of K offering lines to passers buy. I sold a line to a taxi driver.
There is booty call etiquette, and he just isn't following it. I'm not making you breakfast, gtfo.
I'm still in my ugly sweater and underwear drinking coffee next to a plate of assorted treats we stole from the party. I got a new sweater by the way, its shoulderpad-y and looks like a news anchor got thrown up on by Liberace. I'm pretty proud.
Fuckin wine wasted last night. Found my pants in the toilet this morning.
Not my type, but the penis looks fun.
I CAN SPEAK THE LANGUAGE OF THE ANIMES.
I don't know how much expertise I could offer. My best advice is, "don't drown, for god's sake don't drown"
Over Bumbled last night. I think I set my dog up on a date Sunday afternoon. I have to drive him, meet the other dog’s dad and secretly drink a bottle of champagne from a “water bottle”. This is not what I expected 30 to be like.
Get your heels and tits on! I’m not wasting a Brazilian because his fucking kid ate paste or Legos and ruined an afternoon suite sex and room service
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