oh great. the only prospects for sex left for the night are douchebag in the ed hardy shirt & frodo-looking ass
fuck it... i'll be the lord of his rings
If you weren't supposed to have sex with your ex then they wouldn't rhyme.
I can't wait until next week, when I find out what drunk me added to the Netflix queue.
We're doing a case race on Saturday.
I'm in. I'm currently drinking a beer in the bathtub so I guess I can consider this "practice" and not just "alcoholism"
Then we all started singing, "Our house, in the middle of the street. Our house, fucks a lot of freshman meat". It was magical.
That doesn't help it make any more sense. Because now you've brought pinata condoms into this.
at one point i was feeding a guy sour cream chips and he made me make the "choo choo" noise as they were going in. \ni feel so much closer to him now.\n
It was all going great until he pulled the hamburger meat out of his pocket
You know what my problem is? I'm like a machine designed for the sole intention of removing the pants from damaged girls.
It's a "nonproductive" (vocab word) cough. It's like a constant tickle in my throat, like there's a little elf with feathers for feet going Gangnam style on my "uvula" (vocab word).
In local news, attempts to hide phone from extremely drunk self prove unsuccessful for Dallas woman.
nana can keg stand better than me. should i be proud?
It says a lot about the way my life is going right now that 'there's no shit in your house' is fucking good news.
we both turned hook ups into relationships we are crushing this thing called life right now.
My hairdresser won’t do keratin treatments because of the toxins, but will put ecstasy up her butt at festivals...
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