Goodnight my chunky, little, marshmallow muncher
I just threw up during my phone interview for the largest PR firm in the world.
I had to ask him for the scissors while I was in the shower. My hood piercing was stuck in my loofah.
I just want uncharted vagina. Fresh and ripe.
its official. the only way for my hair to look good is to blow somebody
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.
The highlight of the night was when he yelled "WAS THIS CONDOM MADE FOR TODDLERS??"
I put xanax in the cake batter
Did you really? It all makes sense now.
Don't act like you're not jealous that I disappeared into the closet to blow my husband. Marriage = all the cock I want.
I'm worried about your health. And your boobs. Actually, health, then boobs. Health first, boobs second. And third.
I just realized I haven't looked at our horoscopes lately. If mine says anything about tweakers, I'm burning my phone.
Oh shit oh shit oh shit.
BURN THE PHONE.
Honestly my life is shambles over a married man who looked like a fuckin NERD ON HIS WEDDING DAY
I'm shrooming way too hard to deal with your bullshit at this particular point in time
Ever get that feeling that you're the back up booty call and half way through securing the fake date excuse to try to get in your pants, the guy hears back from the original booty call and drops the conversation with no explanation?
He had a tattoo of the Batman logo around his asshole. I noped right the hell out of there.
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