You keep asking me questions like I have this magical thing called a memory
Ok...drunk girls at the bar are charging $1 for motorboating. It's fucking WEDNESDAY. I never want to leave.
New game: find the sober person in Tbell
I still don't understand how I went from crying to blowing you in like two minutes.
I made out with him with my retainers in. My drunken hook-ups get lazier and lazier.
I think I ate my cheesy fiesta potatoes cup.
You should have totally come, I started watering down vodka with cider. I have lost the sense of taste.
Then my perve supervisor asked about your vagina. And I was like nunya, but its glorious
I woke up naked on my couch playing a video game I thought I had dreamed about... oh yeah, and someone cut my hair.
Don't let me publish my memoir unless "hurt my ankle drunk irish dancing" is at least the title of a chapter because that is really the whole story of my life.
I just know what's gonna happen. I mean. I shaved my legs up to shorts length. But I'm leaving the rest as a sort of makeshift caution tape.
'valentine' just autocorrected to 'cake robe' in my phone
I think that summarizes my life up pretty accurately
His 89 y/o father walked in on us. Judging by the gasp/moan, I don't think the 1920s prepared him to see another dude inside his son.
You followed me up the stairs while i was throwing up yelling "projectile! projectile! projectile!"
last final went out with a bang.. 20 min late bra-less, cum in my hair and i still cant find my shoes.
Randomize
