i don't remember her name, but i don't need it unless we decide to hook up again. but even then, i can get away with not knowing it for a while. it's not like we have actual conversations.
By the grace of god and the ingenuity of Alexander Graham Bell, this text message is made possibe: YOU ARE A WHORE
I told you it's awful. It looks like he was eating honey at a barbershop and tripped.
It reminded me of the time my mother gave my Bailey's in my stocking when I was 14.
He's trying to impress me with how much money he makes. How does he know me so well?
I think I found out what we're going be for Halloween....Alcohol poisoning victims.
My contribution to the dinner party was a bottle of vodka and a bag of uncooked potatoes. I felt like a Russian serf.
Do you know how I hurt my ankle or my shoulder? Or the origin of any of the following mystery bruises: left quad, left wrist, right elbow. Thanks for playing.
It's all fun and games until some random starts jerking it on the deck.
Before he comes over remember the house standards. Ask yourself "will he stalk my sister or myself in the future?". If the answer is yes, then no, he isn't allowed.
Watching the wiggles while tripping on acid is the scariest fucking thing of all time
I got to see a stripper that did magic last night. It was glorious.
He came home at 2 AM on roller skates with his hair dyed pink while singing "Sweet Transvestite" and throwing glitter on all of us and everything we own. We had to call a cleaning guy.
Sorry I didn't call this morning. Ended up with a decorated war veteran last night who besides finding the enemy, KNEW where the fuck my G spot was. He gets a medal in my book!
What's the blow job-backrub exchange rate these days? I've got some killer stress knots
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