You were running around the house with a purple crayon asking people to call you harold..
They nicknamed me the gargoyle. Sex with me is getting gargoyled. The last one I fucked yelled "gargoyle me" for dirty talk. I think fucking me is part of their pledging initiation. Somewhat OK with this.
She alternated between blowing me and feeding me bites of the sandwich she made for me.
My shirt is ruined. If I ever get the idea of doing a tequila shot through my nose ever again, shoot me.
But it's not about our feelings, it's about making the men we sleep with feel awful about their lives
Last I saw him was around 10 this morning. He was passed out on the porch with his head under the barbeque cover and there were cups of orange juice around him as well as loose tobacco spread everywhere. Good luck getting a hold of him.
How do you not remember?? She kept putting a dollar on her waistband and insisting it was all you can eat under a dollar
I have effectively turned laundry day into a drinking game.
hey fuckhead. when i said not to grow shrooms in our apartment, that didn't mean "yea, sure. grow shrooms in our apartment"
Why is there soup literally in every orifice of my body?
No he's great. He's trying to do "sexy stuff" for me now, which is pretty hilarious. He stirred my daiquiri with his penis last night. He also tied a bouquet of flowers around it.
He should just accept that I want his dick and his friendship. Can't he understand that I don't do emotions?
I swear to God, if you have sex in my bed one more time you're gonna start paying rent
Shit on my own feet while puking from my hangover. Is this what 33 is supposed to be like?
I'm serious-it was like trying to deep-throat a minivan.
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