who the fuck tagged pancake nipples on my profile picture?
All I did today at work was try to remember in vivid detail what your cock looks like.
I walked downstairs and there were 50 sorority girls. I wasn't expecting an audience during my walk of shame.
Hannah wants to know if she cant borrow your stats notes because she threw up on hers.
I'm sitting in the corner at the bar with a poolstick in case a brawl breaks out. Some crazy shit is going down and I'm trying to show my feathers like a horny peacock.
That's cool. At least the punch line of my story isn't I shit in a booth at Denny's.
I yelled out look at all those hickeys. And then gave her boyfriend a high five
I need to get a job that holds me accountable for something. Otherwise I wake upon Monday wondering when the booze store opens and if I still have a boyfriend.
Would you like to partake in getting high as fuck with your best friend and then proceeding to cry over the shit head guys we deal with?
It wasn't even dirty talking, it was more like the soothing gentle nonsense noises you make when you've spooked a horse.
YOU LEFT MY FUCKING BRA OUTSIDE OF YOUR HOUSE AND NEVER TEXTED ME.
This whole quitting my bad habits all at once is really messing with my ability to function.
You -do- realize there are other things to talk about than just how different parts of you smell like pussy, right?
Access to a Target is paramount to my general happiness and self-worth.
Periods are much less exciting when you're not sexually active.
Randomize
