I have a story that starts with Nutella and ends with sex in the laundry building at RIT.
Charles is a playa. And I don't mean the spanish word for beach.
Im so ripped right now that i just filled the almost empty bottle of choc syrup with milk and drank it straight out of the bottle. It was on pointttttt.
Who spends 33 dollars at Taco Bell and lives???
You filled up my voicemail with a slurred but graphic depiction of how you were humping a fire hydrant.
He got about halfway through singing "Drift Away" before he passed out and broke my coffee table.
What are you doing and how can I add sex in there
i know i said i'd always be there for you, but i'm beginning to think that what you call "being there for me" the american judicial system calls reckless endangerment.
I find it very uncomfortable that I need to ask you to stop sending me pictures of your stomach
i took a picture of my dick. with a stick figure drawn on it. and a paper hat taped to the tip. and i call i the mayor of Dickville
We're exchanging our favorite porn sites at 9 am. I think this brings our relationship to a whole new level
It says something about our relationship that he stole your phone to tell me about his dick at 3am and neither of us realized that wasn't you until just now
All i remember from last night was that i was sitting on the toilet for a good hour eating a philly cheesesteak hotpocket... then i woke up... in my bed.
I'm naked and there are two trees and a yield sign
Be right there
You wouldn't eat with utensils. You insisted on making your own spoon out of a bendy straw and staples while singing "I'm a survivor" by Destiny's Child.
Randomize
