I am drunk as shit eating pancakes. I am not the person to call.
I'm in the line at the airport trying not to vomit on the person in front of me. Happy Tuesday.
He did a line, told me my hair looked pretty against the background of the clouds, and then we fucked. Good afternoon
Good news, I found your other leg warmer. Bad news, I don't know if the pile of puke I found it in was yours.
Chasing shots with sriracha-covered mini toast was, in retrospect, not the best idea.
But you've got to admit , for how blackout I was I look fucking unreal in those pictures
Grandma is giving me marriage advice again. On the plus side, she thinks I'm straight now.
I feel like I was dropped out of a helicopter. Through the propeller.
Someone with the Instagram name "hymenbreaker" just liked a photo of me and my grandma. I feel ashamed.
Who has the safety vest from this past weekend Additionally, who has the dancemaster glove?
I'm like an air traffic controller of women. It's a very similar job. Well spaced and gentle landings are good. When they meet, it's bad. Explosions bad. Dying screaming burning children bad.
The perfect man would keep a whisky sour in my hand and give me endless sex. I really don't think that's too much to ask for.
Well waking up naked, covered in Chex mix is not how I planned to start my Wednesday if that's what you're getting at.
I've spent hours masturbating before. It's actually my favorite Sunday activity
Weird. And pubic lice are now endangered so your hairy balls can rest easy
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