I like complaining with weaving words and complex sentences. It makes me seem more sophisticated and less bitchy.
mmm whisky
reminds me of losing my job
i wonder what thom yorke's orgasms sound like
He passed out while I was riding him, and just when I was about to call it quits he opens his eyes and squeezes my boobs and goes Honk! Honk!
I told her the maid must have stolen all my condoms. She bought it
but i'm paying and its not a date cause he's got a gf and i'm hooking up with his roommate tomorrow night
Me. You. Shitty green clothes from Savers that we will dub alligator costumes. Middle of the quad tomorrow at noon. Bring your alligator voice and the pearls before swine comic.
It's that time of the week again where I begin to ponder life's great questions like, "What will my pathetic excuse for a future look like?" and "Why tacos?"
I was just laying in bed wondering if there's more important things in life than cheese stuffed pretzels.
I'm gonna have to get you a special blowjob bib -- like a lobster bib -- but instead of a picture of a little red lobster, it will have a picture of a penis, with 3 big squirts coming out.
KY in my mouth and throat does not a party make.
There's a guy masturbating in front of Sephora right now
there's a 50/50 chance the night will end in alcohol-induced rituals of satanic nature
Goal: finish my bio assignment before the Xanax kicks in.
he tried to have the "are we in a relationship" chat last night. I stuck my fingers in my ears, yelled lalalalalala very loudly at him and told him I would stop having sex with him if he ever tried that conversation again. bad person, or just being a realist?
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