john hughes is dead. crushing any and all dreams of me ever being in an 80's john hughes film. bummer.
HE COULDN'T FIND IT! WHAT KIND OF QUARTERBACK CAN'T FIND IT?!
It's now 3:30 and the guy I went home with is showering me with shredded cheese. Nbd.
That's the international "my vagina is unoccupied, come talk to us" chant. You have your mission. Go.
I have to deal with three things I do not like this weekend. Pooping in toilets that are not mine. Air mattresses. Not beating off in the shower.
But I just had this pork pâté. It was dick grabbing.
Go big or go home. Or get a live in house boy you met 7 years ago and feel like you have unfullfilled potential. You know, the usual
I woke up with a stapler in my ass. Don't even complain to me.
My condoms might be a little big for you but hey, a big sweater is better than no sweater at all when it's cold right?
I love how my phone automatically capitalizes Margarita. R-e-s-p-e-c-t.
You slid down a wall, tried to pull your cast off and yelled that casts were too conformist.
Tonight we learned that just because we can fit a Tic Tac in the tip of my penis that does not mean we should.
Can I just lay in bed and you pour vodka through a funnel in my mouth?
I'm keeping him.
Sex was good?
I had to tap out three times. There aren't words for how much better than "good" that is.
My apartment stinks of burning failure
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