Conclusion from last night: Sometimes being classy isn't as fun as making out with a guy on a pooltable in a bar. Happy birthday, Canada.
I felt like a body pillow being humped by a twelve year old.
I making dinner, so you might want to actually come home tonight.
oh, you finally did the dishes then?
No, bought new ones.
It can't be good... The last recollection I have is singing lullabys to his penis
Just found my shirt from Saturday, got an automatic contact buzz.
Vegas should really enforce the buddy system because if not everyone is going to end up swimming during the water show in front of the Bellagio.
The last thing I remember is teaching our waffle house waitress to do the stanky leg and promising the grill cook we would come see him at his other job.
Well, I found my bra. It's in my glove compartment with a half-eaten Snickers bar and a Jesus bookmark.
You need to get laid. You spent last night stumbling through the club pulling couples apart and telling them to leave room for Jesus.
I had to write an apology letter to my roomate for hotboxing in our bathroom. What a bitch.
Just bailed on her the best way possible. Got tickets to the game. Only issue is.... if we lose, we not only lost, but I skipped sex to watch us lose
I had to ask him for a dick pic. Do you know how refreshing that was?
At one point I was counting his nipple hairs to calm myself down.
You went into the bathroom, got in the tub with a pillow, yelled "this isn't as comfortable as it looks in the movies" then passed out
I may have made out with your roommate and your cousin tonight. In my defense I thought both of them were your cousin.
Randomize
