I mean, it really isn't YOUR car until you have sex in it.
Just got the American Express annual summary for 2009. The amount of bars we visited last year is impressive.
So I'm on the can right now reading a court transcript for an appeal. Some dude is paying $155 an hour for me to take a shit.
Look at it this way: if he'll have sex with a tomato, he'll have sex with you.
My patience ran out after you started clapping at the strippers everytime they took off a piece of clothing.
I feel like a blind man at a water park. Every step has the potential to be either fatal or lead to accidental, but totally enjoyable, sex.
If I'm going to start compromising my butthole it's going to be for much better drugs than a ventolin
So I went tanning and I burned my boobs.
They're like sad pomegranates.
"You can go raw dog up in me". Exact words. I can't decide whether to run, or fuck. Help.
Woke up at 10 with bourbon being shoved down my throat and him yelling, "shot train! Don't be a bitch"
The toilet wouldn't flush at the club so I literally just shat in the garbage.
I knew there was a problem when things got heated and instead of rushing home I offered to get bagels instead
All you need is a handful of lube and an open mind
I woke up in a beaver hat and contruction vest.. I need answers.
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