Yours is on the dinner table...mine is in my underwear drawer.
i checked my sent messages this morning and i had apparently tried to text the bar, saying "idk what i drank, do you?"
He tipped the stripper with quarters. After that not even the waitress would talk to us. I had to move to another table to get a lapdance
pouring popcorn down my shirt before we went to the bar was the best idea ever. it was delicious and convenient.
I can now tell my grandchildren Central Park has really great spots for quickies...
Imma do me. And by that, I mean I'm going to walk across campus still drunk at 9am on a Tuesday.
I was dancing with a blow torch in one hand and a bowl of weed in the other
2 girls slept in my bed with me. 3 more girls slept on a mattress on my floor. The furthest I got was cuddling. Here's my man card.
I'm just waiting til he drunkenly pisses in his new man's car the way he always whipped it out and went Bellagio in mine.
I think the only context in which I'd be comfortable being kidnapped is by a band of baby sloths
I told him that I wanted his dick like I wanted a jumbo hot dog. There something wrong with my priorities
I hid a TracFone in her bra. We'll find her tomorrow.
I've seen too many dicks in the past week. I can't do it anymore.
So far in 2016 I told someone id give them a blowjob for lasagna.
Oh god, I forgot we had sex to Elton John
Randomize
