I have a ginormous moral hangover. Strip club blues.
Part of my whole not being a slut anymore involves not giving other peoples boyfriends blowjobs
NEVERCLEAR, NEVER AGAIN.
The dingo escaped by eating a hole through my screen door. It's loose in the city somewhere.
Why doesn't he get that I would rather give him blow jobs than be in a relationship?
I believe I won the Golden Vodka Bottle of sadness last night for crying while being party boyed.
You kept yelling "wood grain wheel" and grinding on fat chicks.
The hell is wrong with me
There's some band that practices next door to my apartment. I'm thinking we may need to check that out. I could be like, "Hey boys, thought you might like some lemonade and vagina."
I know, it's just the worst. Also, security almost took the burrito I brought for lunch. I thought I was going to have to pull a Liz Lemon and eat the whole thing before I could go through.
So last night was the first of "I got cut off before I walked in the bar".
You're officially the most high maintenance man I've ever had inside me.
When you're trying to sneak from the bathroom to your room with dildo, but it glows in the dark and suddenly your entire life is illuminated in the shape of dick
I think I’ve reached sophomore-year-level of bad ideas
and you know that’s the highest possible level because it’s when I met you
There's nothing like when u really click with a stripper
You looked at the bouncer while you pissed on the front door of the bar and said...who the fuck are you?
Randomize
