I have a story that starts with Nutella and ends with sex in the laundry building at RIT.
I opened my browser to a doctor page titled "serious pain under left side of ribcage". Last night must have been healthy.
I feel like someone was just looking at my memory and took out an eraser and was like "nope he doesnt need that"
Just had a handjob preempted by a huge bolt of static electricity leaping from her fingertip to my sack. I hate this time of year.
I was going through my paperwork and I found the lifetime warranty card for my 14" dildo. I saved it. You know, just in case.
My mom is purposely blasting Shania Twain downstairs so I can't jack off.
the only thing keeping me going right now is the knowledge that in 2 hours i'll be drunk at the circus.
These welts and bruises from letting gay boys whip my thighs last night are a clear indication i should lay off the tequila.
and here comes the time of my day when I haw to convince a guy to drive my cape and my handle to my dorm.
No, it wasn't really a sexy 'I'm going to go masturbate.' It was an 'I'm going to go masturbate' that implied I was going to drink a tall boy of Mikes and cry while I looked at lesbian porn.
Idk I'm drinking Sam Adams and wearing new balances so I'm basically a dad
It's okay that we broke up and all but it's not okay that he still has my Chick-fil-A calendar card. This month is free fries!
rest in peace liver.
It was nice having you occupy space in my body that could be holding beer n chicken.
that's going in my livers obituary.
My goal tonight is to be arrested by the Police Women of Cincinnati.
Enjoy your early 30’s! You’re still young enough to catch a twenty something that can fuck 4 times a day, hot enough to date forty year old penises that can last long enough to give you multiple orgasms
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