Memo to the bitch sitting across from me at Swamp: no one thinks you're classy with your Louis Vuitton and your Burberry scarf when you're dragging on that cig like it was the last cock on earth and you needed cum for sustenance.
This bar is like a mediocre whore house....but free
We eventually get in a cab (after david tried to hail multiple regular cars and some sort of shuttle bus)
I don't think we should have started that trash fire
I'm sober enough to question why I have your name as "the wolverine" in my phone.
Lets just fuck. We'll decide if it was makeup or breakup sex after.
Remember...the emancipation proclimation is your favorite document, you love asian women, japanese food is the tits, and you willfully employ as many latinos as possible...
That would warm my breasts.
In this context breast is a metaphor for soul.
She started giving me head while we were watching the Walking Dead premiere, WORST BJ EVER.
At the bar, some guy bumped into you and you screamed "hey, don't touch what you can't afford sunshine!"
I tried to prevent a bar fight. By convincing a guy whacked out on Molly to slap the ass of everyone who was arguing and shout "WOO" each time. I'm proud, surprised, and intrigued that it calmed everyone down so quickly...
Seriously, though. As long as it's attached to you and is not a vagina, I will not be disappointed.
I'm eating a bagel on the toilet and watching porn. Trust me, I've got my priorities straight.
Think I was still drunk when I woke up cause I went and bought a mandolin
And now Google thinks I have a hard hat fetish...maybe I do...
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