it took everything i had not to yell out "your name means death in german!"
he kept looking at my chin until i asked why, then he just said he was making sure his balls didnt leave a mark.
his cum shot went directly into his bellybutton. felt like i was playin ski ball
DO NOT FUCK HIM ON MY BEAN BAG CHAIR
I'm way too horny to be at work right now. I think it might be legally irresponsible to leave me alone with cucumbers.
Oh just living the dream. And by living the dream I mean drinking franzia out of a martini glass and watching family matters. Also, drinking every time Carl Winslow has a mustache and Eddie wears MC Hammer pants
turns out that the cat the james was trying to catch was a raccoon. call me when you get this, i need an ER buddy
Haha at least the one I have like that you can't tell we are completely drunk and you're about to kick a glass out of my hand in a fit of joy over pizza.
If those antibiotics mean you can't drink, ya might as well pack your bags and re-enroll next fall, because sobriety this week would be social suicide.
That isn't the worst part. It got a bazillion times more awkward when he read me a poem he wrote about his dead cat.
Better not shit yourself at the gym.
I need to stop acting like a porn star that isn't getting paid
if i hadn't ended our catfight by hugging you one of us might be dead right now
I don't know what she did to me last night, but the scratches on my back indicate that I had sex with a Bengal tiger last night.
There is a sex dungeon behind the wine cellar. This is why I hate showing foreclosures.
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