remind me not to puke in the mesh trash can tonight
My last google search was "mavis beacon techs tping" Thank god google auto corrects bc otherwise i wouldn't know that i drunk-type 13 words a minute.
My corndog is like a popsicle of bread. A WHOLE. POPSICLE. OF BREAD.
He confessed to putting dry erase marker dots on my vibrator to keep track of when I "electronically cheated" and then passed out.
I always congratulate people on their vaginal emancipation.
Is it wrong that the only reason I'd want Savannah in my wedding party is to watch her whore around and drink?
It's not that I even wanna fuck these guys anymore, just cuddle that's all. My conscience has never been so proud.
Looks better than the half a blow job I got the other night which I had to finish myself. From a chick I refer to simply as "mom jeans".
He called me piss drunk at 7:30pm while cooking bacon and said he was going to bed. I don't think he's taking it well.
Also, making a white Russian with butterscotch schnapps instead of vodka is probably the best decision I've made in my entire college career.
He has a British accent. He could read me the phone book and I would come so hard he would need a wizened old man in a rowboat to save him.
Note to self: Calvin Klein's are not safe to shit in.
Every time I try to do something productive I end up searching ghost porn.
Naked. Naked is my favorite color.
Dude, I just feel great. I love life so much and I love you. Love. Love. So much love.
Randomize
