I'm sorry for everything. i woke up with two citations stapled to my shirt.
he screamed my twitter name while we were having sex.
Come scavenge bits of tuna out of my chest hair
I walked downstairs and he was standing in nothing but his boxers with his dick hanging out warming up eggs in the microwave.
Two questions: what are you doing RIGHT NOW? and do you know how to drive a golf cart?
I was tripping balls on the bathroom floor and his dog walked in. The lights in his bathroom have motion sensors, so I thought his labrador retriever was Jesus.
the fact that we had sex in the dining hall makes it seem so much more like home.
Everyone at work loved my story about sobering up in a river with no bra on.
My genitals don't want beer. They want to not feel like they wandered into a hornet's nest.
I now have a bottom rung on my kissing scale. Like I can say "Well. On a scale of Matt to Braxton he was probably a Zach." It's the little things.
Nothing better then waking up to multiple snap stories of people doing body shots of tequlia off of you
Moral of the story - don't craft naked. Your nipples with thank me.
im about to go through the checkout with 3 flasks and a wedding card. let the judgement begin!
update: cashier guessed cash bar before i could say anything. completely bypassed "dry" and knew cash bar right away. i love this state.
The cat likes watching me spank Michael. I don’t know how to feel about this.
Stop inviting Kevin over. The dickless wonder started playing some strange Sci-FY music and speaking an alien language and the girls split.
Randomize