It's just you. You wear the fuck me fedora and wear baller shorts, hollywood hippie who thinks she is shakira when she's drunk.
Only now do I see "not intended for use on skin" warning. Wonderful. But hey, my dick smells like magic marker.
I was about to go down on her and her dong flopped out and hit me in the chin. This may have a Nam like post-traumatic-stress-disorder effect on me.
I've replaced the bottom of the food pyramid with alcohol.
I can't believe you made out with me with a french fry in your mouth.
I just filled out my 2010 Census drunkenly. I'm single handedly throwing it off.
They should have to wear some identification that warns you to stay away. Like one of those cones dogs wear to keep them from biting stitches. CONE OF SHAME.
if i ever get hit by a car or something and become paralyzed promise me youll still be here to hand feed me shots and light my bowls please
I am never taking a razor down there again. He'll have to love me as I am.
I figured it out! The supermoon explains how I managed to have sex with 3 dudes in 3 nights without leaving the apartment.
Dry heaving on campus is my new low. Also, go pats
I'm fucking sick of guys. I think I'm going to date myself. No drama. And I know I'll always put out.
The body is still out there. I don't think my trainer realized when he asked me not to drink for 24 days, how often I see dead people
I should've negotiated that before I sat on his face.
If the guys trying to booty call text me could see me right now in some raggedy pajamas with toothpaste down the front of my shirt eating pepperoni out of the package they might change their minds
Randomize
