We've finally become those guys who you'd see in middle school when you went to the park who are just stoned out of their minds sitting on the swings.
Drunk in a canoe getting pulled by a lawn mower thinking of you
just remembered spooning on the cardboard and confessing to each other we had the spins.
I came in your room, you looked at me and said "I fucked up" and then some kid showed up and took you to the hospital
i told him I'd let him eat part of a weed cookie out of my cleavage, so he pulled over like a gentleman.
And my nipple is sore from him biting it. That is not a complaint.
I wore home his HoHoHo boxers. I've never felt such a connection to an article of clothing.
Found some boxer briefs on my patio table this morning surrounded by a case worth of empties. Starting to remember why I have rugburn and a sore asshole.
too bad we didn't bet. my 38-1 tears would have made great lubrication for a blow job.
Well in other news, my nipples are healing pretty well but next time I get drunk and decide to pierce something please for the love of god stop me!
We have moved from phase 1: honeymoon, to phase 2: trapped in relationship until the cold embrace of death
I'M OFFICIATING THIS WEDDING. HOLY SHIT.
I'm a grown ass woman. Treat me like one. Fuckboy
Highlight of the day: got a bunch of drunks to sing baby shark.
Grandma had me open the boxes that were delivered today. She got a sex swing, I've settled on "You go girl" as my official reaction.
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