There's a walmart bag of my vomit outside my front door. I just really need someone to appreciate that with me.
I didn't exactley write on my bucket list -- "hook up with a townie at a drivers intervention program"
i wanna give whoever invented massage chairs a blow job.
I just found blacked-out interviews on my voice recorder. Go journalism.
You insisted that you sleep on the bear rug instead of the couch. You said it was lonely and you kept on petting its head.
No, he's ok. He just broke his teeth on the stripper pole. No biggie.
She wanted to roleplay. Apparently you be snow and i'll be a plow wasn't an option
Chick last night said she only gets off if she rubs her childhood blanket her parents gave her during sex
Pencil dick carries the name proudly.
If I'm going to risk life and limb to wear a Wings jersey to the Garden next week, the least they can do is win.
And the most would be ending up in bed with one of them.
Are you sure he's still you're boyfriend when you're sober?
He's two decades older than you. Remember how you said you wish you lived in the 70s? HE DID.
I refuse to believe you if you're trying to tell me humanity as a whole isn't sad, tired, and craving Chinese food.
His dog ate the vibrator. The WHOLE vibrator. We spend the morning after trying to make it vomit up the battery. Why does this always happen to me?
I think I should write my liver a thank you note. If it had my work ethic, I would be dead now.
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