Hi Jason, it's Liz. We dont need you to pick us up anymore. I dont care if you will be here in a milisecond. And you should know im wearing really amazing shoes.
So A**** bought my story about how my hickey was a bruise from wrestling
on one hand i'm glad that i'm not in trouble...on the other hand i realized that the reason i cheat on her is because she is so stupid
ISS teacher has a tramp stamp.
Shotgun.
I don't remember which guy I met at the bar is coming to pick me up. It will be like my birthday surprise.
He told me my butthole was like "Narnia" and that it's a wonderful place he would like to visit.
And after we were done he said "Let's play a game! Who can find their clothes first"
You are. Embrace it. But you are the right kind of asshole.
Paying for my weed with Mike's hard lemonade freezables. The perks of having a gay dealer
Meanwhile I'm working a fucking flute workshop and I'm one high c away from shoving a flute up the asshole of the next passerby
Dad stumbling and puking in the White Castle parking lot = Father's Day success
We don't know where he is but he left his pants and what appears to be a tooth here so he's gotta come back sometime
My goal for the weekend: procure a blowjob using only stern glances, hand gestures, and crudely-drawn stick figures.
You kept insisting you found queso that's better than oral sex
I promised her I would shit on your driveway. There's nothing that you or I can do about it now.
I'm pretty sure I smell like alcoholism and shame. And it's not a pretty scent.
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