Pick my eyebrow is burning. I'm sitting in the back of dolows vat and listening to jolly music and wilfgang is signing and looking food. Cute kid. Home is where I go now.
what. the. fuck.
We need to start having rules for the weekends. Like no more downing 3 shots because we want to slut dance a little harder or because biggie just came on.
I think I may have walked up to her while she was with her friends and asked for a "do over".
I tried to high-five the cop last night. he just looked at my raised hand and told me to go to bed.
Sit down my child. It's time you were told of my famous loss-of-virginity story entitled, "The Penis that Never Could."
I just want somewhere where I can sit down, without changing my clothes, that will serve me breakfast food and booze. Is that too much to ask?
I definitely don't remember licking the drag queens boob.
Yes dating, but it seems easier to just live in a perpetual state of Netflix, internet porn, and cheese.
She's officially a Tinder poltergeist.
None of these texts make sense. except for "step 2.5 equals velociraptor." that i get.
I will be wearing a suit out more cuz it has been decided i rage harder with a power tie
Few clarical questions about last night: 1. How did we get home? 2. Am I wearing your underwear? 3. Where is Andrea? 4. Guy with nose ring last night hot?
1. You tried hitch hiking "like a pro" and flashed cars while sticking out your thumb until I called Michael. 2. I don't know but probably. 3. Who is Andrea? 4. Hot.
No, Ethan, handcuffs and friendship bracelets are not "basically" the same thing.
And our sex soundtracks thus far have been metal and Star Wars
I just thought you should know that you should be proud of your dick. It's pretty much perfect. Just, ya know, by the way.
Randomize
