I'm not sure, 7-8, the last bit was a rush of at least three blended together. Basically you fucked me so stupid that I can't even recall the number of orgasms.
So you know, I'm making that my facebook status.
the back of my hand read, "say no to drugs." my palm read, "say yes to shots." when the fuck did I write that?
BRILLIANT IDEA: In honor of summer olympics we need to start a synchronized drinking team.
He told me the hickey on the side if his neck was actually a "bruise" from hitting a bird on his motorcycle. I'm not sure what's more impressive, the fact people believed him due to the size of the mark or the fact you gave it to him.
I'm going to try and loofah my hangover away.
Update: It didn't work
He has an accent when he types. I can *hear* the schnitzel. Especially when he's drunk.
Let's be honest, I am pretty sketchy looking.
The three of us were sitting silently in my dining room at 4:30 am, half drunk, eating cold spaghetti and listining to death metal. I need a fucking cigarette.
Dude, we got to the strip club as they were closing, and you starting crying because, and I quote, "This is the closest to birthday sex I'm gonna get."
My joke about liking my coffee like I like my men IS ABOUT TO COME TRUE.
His exact words: "I don't have anything you can't treat with antibiotics."
Sustenance and doggy style.. the only two things I need
Why is the microwave staring at me?!
Our orgasm ration was 1:45. No. Fucking. Joke. I thought I was going to die.
at the hospital. Kevin drank straight from the river
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