And then I interrupted the father of the groom, to ask if she was "ballet or pole" in the middle of his story about his niece, the dancer.
I found his backpack for the weekend. All it had was ping pong balls, mardi gras beads, and Tums.
I couldn't help thinking that my sock monkey was judging me
He cheated on me in real life. I can cheat at words with friends.
This will never work out with him unless I somehow learn how to unhinge my jaw like a python.
You don't have a penis so I'm not texting you at this hour. This is penis texting hour only.
hotdog in my bra and i still managed to score. Got a bit freaked when he tried to eat it though. I paid 3 bucks for that fucking hotdog.
Hes drunk and dancing naked. I can hear his dick smacking his legs from the next room.
I was wondering how I got the burn marks on my boobs and then I remembered....
The baked potato bra?
Terrible hangover + phoenix airport + pizza hut....I think I might have entered one of the levels of hell.
Now that mom and dad sold the camper, do you think it's okay to talk about all the sex I had in it?
I'm rolling and just noticed that the thread count on these sheets is horrendous.
How is it that I know 4 different bartenders who won't charge me for drinks, but I can't get laid?
At what point did i decide poptarts, nyquil, and whiskey was a good idea?
Don't come in. My door to my bathroom won't close because of the table and I'm pooping
Classy
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