i am exhausted. it's been years. we both know his dick is small. the jig is up.
At one point you starting double fisting oreos in your mouth confused about how you got out of the car
Beer vodka and pink lemonade powder mixed together. So. Many. Penises. My vagina will be calling out to them tonight. Coooooooooooooome.
This inappropriate post strip club text brought to you by Cheetah of Palm Beach and vodka. Blowjob in the champagne room and the clap for the low low price of your paycheck.
you were leaning up against the wall pulling your shirt up asking girls to dance on you. your courage to do that is both admirable and frightening.
can I share that I'd like to fuck him in my new car as a sort of car warming present to myself?
I'm still pretty stoned. There are mini rice cakes in my robe pocket to snack on in the shower.
Almost to work. And still feel hungover. Like my body is trying to regenerate after dying. Full on zombie shit. But like, one of those zombies from warm bodies that comes back to life slowly.
why is there blood on my car? and are we still friends?
I broke her handcuffs. I feel like an animal.
The other day, he sent me a snapchat of his dick in the forest. He captioned it "nature nudes."
You've opened Pandora's butthole my friend. There's no going back.
I don't think I'm gonna survive today. I don't remember how to walk. I must crawl 6 blocks to my bed.
I hate political talk. I just wanna get fucked into an alternate universe where Bernie Sanders is president.
I feel like I should have held a press conference. The state of my vagina
Randomize
