I have a story that starts with Nutella and ends with sex in the laundry building at RIT.
I was just tapping my foot in the bathroom at Penn Station just PRAYING for anonymous sex. You know how that goes.
I just realized that "Hey girl, when you gonna let me tap that?" is in iambic pentameter. I'm going to write a poem...
I found your pet lobster in the bathroom this morning. I went to return it to you but it escaped.
When he goes down on me, he stares me in the eyes like a shark mocking it's prey as it devours it. Plus, his beard smells like dirty gym socks. This has got to end.
There are six slides. In going to pee in five of them. You have to guess which one to go down. Agree?
Agreed.
Let's drink?
Just because it's bacon vodka doesn't mean it's for breakfast.
seeing two freshman taking a cab home at noon on a Monday makes me realize how much worse my life choices could have been
No more co-pays for contraceptives. Whoever says Obama is a bad guy has clearly never had a pregnancy scare.
The two girls sitting next to me are asking siri "Like, uh, how do you know my name?". Do I fuck with them or fuck them?
he had a beard, sexy nerd glasses and kept referring to his penis as 'this dick' its like jesus was saving my perfect match for my prime
They just broke the window so they could get in and smoke the taxi driver out...
I swear he is my soulmate. He kept feeding me goldfish while we were fucking. Who wouldn't enjoy that while having sex.
Well, thanks for not letting me sleep with anyone, but no thanks for telling everyone I have the clap.
My apartment stinks of burning failure
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