whatever sunny in Philadelphia does on Thursday nights, I'm doing all weekend.
We have sex, then he cooks. It's like a fantasy.
: am i supposed to send the mass text 'merry christmas!' to my booty calls too?
he told me that if i wanted to smoke he could make a piece out of my shoe. were keeking this kid around
dont try to nair your balls. i speak from experience
she was carrying the quesadilla around the bar like a security blanket
well on a positive note i hear those vitamins you take while pregnant do wonders for your nails
At some point tonight the bad ideas in my head became bad decisions that happened outside my head
Multiple bruises and a hell of a headache later, I have still to find out where the fuck I picked up the bottom half of a mannequin.
BUT I think maybe Thursday in celebration of America we should probably tan and see how fast we can finish everything in the liquor cabinet.
So here's a brief summary of my weekend: last night I drank four glasses of Death Punch, grabbed the toaster, said "This is mine", put it in my pants and walked out the front door.
You did a cartwheel, it was terrible.
I remember that cartwheel, it was okay.
I'm now consulting a magic eight ball on all major life decisions. On another note I think I have chlamydia.
There's no triumph quite like finally banging your high school boyfriend 6 years later
I figure I since I made out with him that I at least had to save his number in my phone.
Randomize
