I think I just was a dick to Paul Rudd.
He cooked the food on a paper plate in the oven.
im shaking like a drug addict and i almost just shat my pants when i sneezed...no more patron for me
I love her so much that if I could have sex with her I wouldn't cuz my dick would feel out of place in such a perfect body/vagina
i know. thats why i need an open bar. i'll get hammered and make a toast about how his dick is like the titanic. large, but full of failure.
Security brought me back to our hotel room in a wheelchair last night. Vegas.
And if you ever tell anyone that I will fucking kill you.
To sum up. The glass blower from the ren faire ate me out last night. Best ever. Go find yourself an artisan.
The whole time we were fucking I kept thinking, "My dad would love this cologne. I'll have to ask him where he got it." the highlight of the night is that I figured out my dad's birthday gift.
If you're wondering why you have playpen balls it's because we stopped at chuckie cheese on the way home.
It was a fight. Me vs nature and drunkenness. And nature won. Big time.
At first I was a little embarrassed for sharting, but then i realized it was a bachelor party, and I went balls to the wall
I'm at the nutcracker high as shit. It's so beautiful. I cried.
The poop emoji wasn't even in my recents. Does that mean I'm growing up?
...and with one comment dissing Hannibal Lecter, I suddenly understood why we never worked out.
I'm the one who said we should take things slow. I'm also the one who forced him into the back on my car so we could have sex.
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