john hughes is dead. crushing any and all dreams of me ever being in an 80's john hughes film. bummer.
home. puking in laundry basket.
Well, I guess that settles the question of how thick the walls are in my building.
In other words, he somehow found his way to my apartment, wasted, and was naked on my new couch. Completely naked. It was too special to pass up.
Oh my god, I am the best RA ever. I'm teaching my freshman girls how to deep throat on bananas as a group bonding activity. I'm making the religious ones eat them for potassium.
Survival tip #3: while you're hooking up with him, don't say he reminds you of his brother
There is someone hissing in the hallway. Not even a typo. Not pissing. Hissing. Like a large cat. Or a komodo dragon.
That rando I gave head to on the beach just endorsed me on LinkedIn for Oral Communication Skills. So there's that.
As Scar once said. Be prepared! For the shit show of what's coming tonight
In the future, could you not call me 'bro' while we're having sex?
YO. MCGRIDDLES.
WHY HAVE SO MANY THING GONE IN MY BUTT ON THIS TRIP
If you fuck up my birthday by dying I will kick your fucking corpse.
Little girl was fucking around on the train and completely ran her head into a pole. Totally burst out laughing as she cried. Her mom was not amused. I don't think I should be a Mom. EVER.
No, he came home, unscrewed all of the lightbulbs, and threw them in the sink.
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