So some guy at the party is convinced I'm Edward Cullen. He keeps calling me "Twilight" and following me around with a stake. I'm concerned.
I just saw someone marching around outside wearing only a loincloth, dragging a fuckton of sheet metal. Spring has Sprung.
He got mauled by a 200lb cement boulder and all he could say in the back of the ambulance is 'I'm so getting laid for this'
My New Years Resolution is to come up with a new resolution monthly. January: decrease my shotgunning consumption speed to 7 seconds or less.
I'll just tell her I'm here with you picking out a buttplug for her to say "I'm sorry".
Fuck you, jack daniels. I feel like satan laid an egg in my brain.
I stole all of the toasting champagne and did an interpretive dance to "wind beneath my wings". I am literally everything you're not supposed to do at weddings.
But your showmanship is impeccable.
I forgot to ask you how long you're housesitting. By which I mean how many bones can I get in averaging 2.5 bones per day.
20.
I feel better now, I have multiple fuck buddies again
I almost forgot to feel shameful, if that answers your question.
He says it takes a lot to subdue the urge to just bury his face in my vagina. Of course, I have absolutely no problem with this.
I solemnly swear to help bail you out of jail when you throw a dildo at a politician.
If my life today were a movie the subtitle would be: Revenge of the Beer Shits
I never imagine I'd say this, but can I ask Jeff for the butt plugs back even though it was a gift and we broke up?
I described my life as a 7 layer cake of death
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