only my mom would pack illegal paraphernalia in a care package..
he asked me to smell his eyeballs.
They were like stripper heels, except business stripper heels, the kind strippers would wear to court.
Oddly enough when I decided to stop whoreing myself out... I lost most of my companionship.
I slept with him to see his dog one last time
oh awks just saw the head of medical staff who I punched the bottle of wine at
They asked if I was about to puke and my response was to laugh and suddenly throw up. Continuing my asshole streak I kept laughing while still vomiting.
I have had more skin than food in my mouth the last three days
So then I proceeded to the kitchen to make my "specialty," which consisted of a frozen veggie burger topped with peanut butter. I guess he ate it too.
Florida has a way of just fucking with a person's soul and jizzing all over their hopes and dreams. Like existential bukkake.
Is it really bad that my last patient offered to fuck my brains out if I gave her IV morphine...and I gave her my phone number and told her when my shift is over?
I've come to the conclusion all of your awkward and complicated male encounters could easily be intercepted by a man town Yankee candle and a vibrator. Sleep on that tell me your thoughts in the morning. Sweet dreams.
The Vicodin is in the strawberries.
I couldn't even tell you how many times I've said "wrong hole" today
it's the international house of making me almost fucking shit myself
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