Firetruck pulls up, fireman jumps out n knocks on my door, asks "do you know where Johnny lives?"
The extent of my physical activity is running from the cops.
It doesn't matter if I tell the story beginning to end or end to beginning, the story still starts with a random girl blowing me in the bathroom.
the thought 'we cant do it, we're in a public place' crossed my mind, and then I realized he's succeeding if he's trying to domesticate me.
elevator sex. pronto.
As long as you're naked and covered in glow paint, I'm there.
I don't think it counts as a walk of shame when it's someone you've wanted for 4 years. That's mission accomplished.
And I feel like pitchers of margaritas accidentally make it down your throat a lot.
I mean, the lady at the Mexican restaurant insisted. She said she would win a prize if she sold another pitcher before noon. And plus I got to wear a sombrero
We were walking up the stairs and I asked Dominick what floor the party was on. The cop who had just tried breaking it up was walking down the stairs, drinking a slurpee, and answered, "Third floor."
I'm dying. The alcohol is viciously exiting my tiny body.
Is it festive if I masturbate to Santa porn?
The number of mornings I actually have to say out loud to myself "you must put pants on and go to work" to get motivated is...troubling.
He compared my vagina to his favorite T-shirt. I don't know if I should take that as a compliment or not..
Wet should excavate the hamsters out of the front yard n give them a proper burial.
I’m really regretting these suede pants.
Officially hit an ultimate low today. I was so hung-over I threw up on the ground in front of the jousting display in the London tower. But on a positive note, Brits are very understanding when you vomit on their history.
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