Thanks to blow jobs, my margarita's at the bar are only 3dollars.
There are just some things I refuse to put in my mouth.
It feels like he gave my taint an indian burn.
you were crying because peter frampton wasnt your dad
The only dream I remember having is one where my dad's sperm turned into baby hippos. Like, tiny baby hippos, pocket-sized. I am so fucked up.
I don't remember how we paid for the cab. I do however remember giving him my heels 2 help with the bill.
Currently microwaving whipped cream to make white Russians and hotboxing the kitchen while this random kid is dancing in the corner.
He fucked me so hard I had an asthma attack. I'm like the sickly poster child for celibacy.
It feels like my uterus is trying to crawl out of my ass wearing cleats. And yourself?
Do you know why I have a burn shaped like a tiny spork?
For the past year I have been the most responsible I have ever been in my entire life and now spring break is here and there is free penis just traipsing around my entire town. The game is afoot.
He put chocks of wood in front of his doors to stop me from leaving. I'm not nearly drunk enough for that to be appropriate behaviour.
I feel like too many of my sentences start of with "Hey, fuckface!"
Just let me put on a bra and brush the alcohol out of my hair.
Yeah, I'm pretty glad I chose you to have drunken, sloppy birthday sex with.
That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me
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