So I'm really hungover walking to work and these douches from comcast on bikes ask if they can take a picture with me to show that they're doing their job. The picture: me, this chick from comcast, i'm holding a 2 ft. pixie stick, a comcast flyer and i'm puking in the parking lot. sounds like their doing a good job!
They let me out of the holding cell just in time for me to get the morning-after-pill. Rock bottom feels even worse with all those hormones.
I had to close one eye to read the questions on my final this morning. That hungover.
You broke a cabinet. You were climbing up it and it collapsed on you. Lines were crossed.
Showing up at the grocery store at 5am to have the clerk sprint to the condom cabinet waiving the keys because you told him to hurry it was an emergency
Well if he truly loves me he will just have to accept my flaws. And that includes a tequila dependency and borderline lesbianism.
Find me a date. With a beard. I want him to rub his beard on my tits. I'm not even into that stuff but I think it'd be so warm.
When I ask you to make sure no ones coming while I'm changing.. The logical friend would keep watch. But you my, best friend come stand in front of me and flash everybody.
I tried to interpretive dance to Candy Shop to stop the awkwardness.
exhale infront of a fan. self shotgun.
No foreplay. Missionary. Too quick. And he owns a fedora.
I almost fell asleep reading that.
I almost fell asleep fucking it.
I feel as if some line has been crossed, but only in this vague, WTF sort of way.
Btw, you owe me. One (1) orgasm.
just went home with a guy that made fun of me in elementary school. this blow job is not going well for him.
He deliberately gets me high because he knows I fuck better and then I make food for two. I don't know if I should feel mad or proud of him for thinking that far.
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