I have a story that starts with Nutella and ends with sex in the laundry building at RIT.
I'm going to have to call in sick tomorrow. After this weekend, there's no way I can handle hearing the accountants talk about double entry without puking.
ill give you a picture of me naked for $5. im desperate.
I automatically know you're drunk now as soon as you start yelling in spanish
well, duh, but it's like you don't even want to see me masturbate with a wine bottle.
It's 1 AM and there's a guy outside my house belting out Bennie and The Jets. He stops in between verses to puke. I'm joining him.
Last night he asked the cab driver "if you were in the middle of getting tattooed and the tattoo artist suddenly got a boner would you leave or would you get that boner??"
Oh my God, that is a gorgeous man. And I wasn't even gay until five minutes ago.
I'm at his house right now making him pancakes to compensate for YOU not giving him a handjob last night. You're welcome.
I don't care if he got kidnapped by a cult one time he is a dick
He's hot though. It's not like he JUST got out of prison. That was like months ago
I woke up saran wrapped to a chair....
Foreign objects found in purse this morning include: chocolate covered pretzels, pepper spray, and farm animal shaped key chains (you know the ones you squeeze and fake poop comes out, yea those)
Your cat ate my taco.
. . . I don't have a cat?
It was laying in your bed. Now it's hunting for more tacos.
I can handle him. I'm made of spite and hot wings.
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