BEES IN MY FUCKING PANTS. HELP.
There was a lot of him and a little penis
you started texting yourself and saying they were "divine messages from heaven" then you threw up on stacie's piano.
They poked me and kept screaming "LAUGH DOUGH BOY" it's like 3rd grade all over again.
Sneezing blood is a good thing right? Medically speaking.
In college, I had one standard. Penis. A lot has changed since then. Now I really only have one standard. Breathing.
He used the expression "my couch is your couch" as a come on line.
I'm gonna let my dick speak for itself from now on. Seriously, it's always recruiting for me even after 6 hours of drinking.
I thought he was having it in Athens. Alright. Have fun. Please save my dignity and refrain from talking about my boobs and sexual "abilities". If I have any. I just feel like they are going to ask. Repeat after me. And repeat it 5 more times. This is going to be the phrase you're going to rely on tonight: "I can neither deny or confirm such actions."
I am making it a rule that only people I am comfortable around enough to not have to put a bra on are allowed for Sunday funday. I think that's a good rule for someone who started drinking alone at noon while everyone else here sipped their coffee.
Then he rubbed shampoo all over my arm and shouted, "Garnier FUCK THIS."
Aside from having sex with a rando in a toga on george's couch i think taking plan b in the library is the most hashtag college thing i've ever done
I was doing karaoke to "baby got back" and apologizing for being white at the same time.
We were ushered out of Medieval Times by a squire for making out in the torture chamber. Children were present.
I never thought in a million years that I would have a threesome with my boss and his wife and yet here we are.
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