I have a story that starts with Nutella and ends with sex in the laundry building at RIT.
i love marijuana more then i could love a human baby.
you were crying because peter frampton wasnt your dad
Ok. In one sink is a hairdrier. Still plugged in. The other is filled with broken glass. What do I do?!
Nvm. Bloody hand trumps dead. Also, where is gauze.
After we hooked up, he left the room and no one has seen him since last night. That kid redefined hit it and quit it.
I just asked the bartender if I could get insurance on my drink in case I spilled it.
I cant shower it involves moving...
Just lay there and turn the water on. At least rinse off the shame.
My roommate said I banged on the wall and said, "this dude eats pussy like a champ."
diet's not working. come over. i need someone to fuck the hungry out of me.
You're an independent woman who is defined by her own actions and not by whether or not you have a man. You also have great tits.
I miss my teeeeeeeeth. They're in a bag in my hand.
The worst thing about having to live at your parents again is the struggle to make up more excuses to cover up the booty calls.
yeah, i'm probably gonna die. still gonna be totally worth it tho
Humming the Indiana Jones theme song as my hand makes its way to his dick.
in fetal position in his closet not sure if he knows im here... hugging his spongebob cake pan i stole.... now please come find me..
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