I feel like if your cat could talk she would call me a cunt.
So stoned I forgot I was masturbating and went to go get a cookie.
After we finished he asked if I knew if it was a boy or girl. Diet. Starts. Now.
They were like stripper heels, except business stripper heels, the kind strippers would wear to court.
I mean this holiday was built on cheap beer, shitty whisky, and processed meat... and I fully plan to honor that
just saw way to many penises for it being 5 o'clock on a thursday
he literaly had a hockey helmet on and was swan diving off the couch onto the coffee table.
I hope you don't have to start the day explaining to me how you failed to turn "Can I practice my belly dancing in your apartment" into all night sex.
You then proceeded to tell me how good of a cook you were and put raw cookie dough in the champagne.
The orgasm outlasted the Charlie horse. Pros and cons.
That money I left you should go to the stripper that fell asleep in your bed. Sorry
I'm sorry but if you can't drink a bottle of wine without a glass, I do not think we can be friends.
Judging by the progress I've made since I woke up (none) I'm thinking this hangover may keep me in bed.
Apparently hitting a bong with your mouth half numb is hilarious but frustrating!
He left a full handprint on my ass. He called it a "five-star review."
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