The guy in the library beside me just whipped out an entire loaf of bread, a knife and a container of peanut butter and is proceeding to make multiple sandwiches.
We call it lazy sex. We just lay next to each other and help each other masturbate. that way we can both be on bottom.
He said i looked like a shooting star sprawled out on the floor while i puked and i kept blaming "senor cuervo" for doing me dirty.
you don't know what its like to have your bartender tell you that you owe him beer money infront of your mother at 3pm on a tuesday
I've already reverted to sweat pants. And lonely drinking.
i was beyond wasted so he tucked me into bed and wrapped the blankets around me like a burrito. then gave me a bloody mary and an omlet when i woke up. and who says living with your cousin is a bad thing?!
So... Apparently, "Home" isn't the correct response when a cop asks for your address...
You need to braveheart it on Monday. Blue face paint and a loin cloth screaming freedom in your front yard.
I'm at the local community college pretending to be a substitute for a computer applications class
Needless to say, she forgave him, they're back together, and I'm seriously considering having a lesbian year.
I just want the relationship Bob and Linda Belcher have- is that too much to ask?!
If pulling your dick out counts as a hobby that is his.
Would it be creepy if I masturbated with my face in the pillow he slept on last night? Cuz I'm pretty sure that's about to happen
Lest it die in the depths of eternal drunken recall denial...we peed in the street. Middle of the street. Simultaneously. Peed. Street. Middle of street.
I just want to trace his tattoos with my tongue
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