how was the sex?
he smelled like pickles and burnt hair.
well, there's that.
I love how you send me nude pics of girls you're fucking and name them by which city they're in instead of their name. "This is Nashville, this is Tupelo, this is Jackson..."
I found out he doesn't have a facebook, twitter, or myspace. So, I'm going to actually go to his house to spy on him.
I got to watch him fuck me from behind in the reflection of an ornament. so glad I decorated.
It's been a long time since I felt this bad on a Monday... and for that, I thank you.
And I know a few people wouldnt want to even be around high people. Which is sad. But jet packs are cool.
I want to miss work tomorrow on account of violent projective vomit... Make it happen
Found a fruit roll up in my pocket this morning. This means my daughter has a peach blunt wrap in her lunchbox.
I now have a bottom rung on my kissing scale. Like I can say "Well. On a scale of Matt to Braxton he was probably a Zach." It's the little things.
So is it safe to say that my only objective from last night is to finish this entire jar of peanut butter?
The nun costume is coming back hard and it still has glitter and the smell of Vegas on it.
Best. Text. Ever.
There's no way you didn't at least start out with a dick. I obviously know there isn't one now, but there is no way that you were born a girl
you ass-dialed me while you were fucking my ex.
that was on purpose.
I made a powerpoint to trip to.
you are so studious.
the cops drove by and you were on your back in the middle of the side walk with your arms and legs in the air yelling that you were a dead bug .
Randomize
