So, after having sex with my 4th overweight girl in 2 weeks, I've decided Charlie Sheen syndrome is ruining my life.
She insisted on fucking on the futon mattress on the floor, answered the phone call from her boyfriend who was on his way to pick her up, and then had the audacity to ask if I was clean
I'm mentally preparing my vagina for this semester. It's fucking welcome week. I'm going to be talking to her all night.
Remembering I sold my brand new Blackberry to a stranger for a few pints = Worst night of my life. Now to work out what I did with my shoes.
When I said 'i love my boyfriend' I didn't mean 'send me a picture of your penis'.
the evidence from last night is not good...
what evidence?
my underwear is on inside out, and there are french fries in my hair...
I'm pretty sure I just discovered what the American Dream is said the person eating a hotdog for breakfast in bed in her underwear
Ps you missed quite a show. I was for some reason whipping my hair back and forth and head butted the tip jar. It shattered and now I have a circular bruise on my forehead. All the bartenders hit the floor to get all the quarters.
Every time he asks me if I'm horny I'm just like come on...stupid question
Who has the safety vest from this past weekend Additionally, who has the dancemaster glove?
Okay, I just got to our real hotel and the YMCA may have been a better choice. A man w/ no shirt on
HIS BALLS ARE HEAVEN SENT FROM THE VELVET ANGLES.
I'm convinced he's the patron saint of oral sex
It's 5am and I have yet to fall asleep. At what point do we just accept that I run on vodka?
that's what I'm here for. I'm literally just bad advice mixed with motivational sentences.
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