By the grace of god and the ingenuity of Alexander Graham Bell, this text message is made possibe: YOU ARE A WHORE
hey, sorry about all the butter. I thought it was gonna help.
just watched my roommates get stoned and jury rig a pulley system to pass the bowl back and forth across the room.
When you passed out on the kitchen counter she brushed and flossed your teeth, then carried/dragged you to bed. Why aren't you married?
Dave, I love you but you're barking up the wrong lesbian. You sir are the competition. You don't threesome with competition.
A guy claiming to be the Japanese counterpart to the White Power Ranger is trying to take me home....
This is what happens when you leave: I get all vulnerable and I make out with the cowboy to shut him up about Jesus.
You can trust me. I'm unemployed and not wearing pants.
Well if I can't snuggle you, I might as well snuggle a stranger's cat.
Okay first of all, that is a sick ass nickname please call me that forever. Second, i need your help.
I have got to move on from this "sleeping with every drug dealer I meet" phase.
you said, "the pool was totally tequila. and i left my shoe halfway across town. and by shoe i mean car" it appeared to me that you didn't have your shoes or car.
sober me doesnt really want him anymore, but when drunk me takes over, she might want him, and god only knows the shit that might happen with drunk me.
Then it hit me - his penis wasn't a shiny new toy anymore and I wanted a new one.
He thought it would be sexy if he found my clothes and dressed me, and it was..until he found a thong under his bed and assumed it was mine. It wasn't
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