I just talked to a CEO of a fortune 500 company while pooping. I LOVE being self employed.
He smothers me through text. I can't even image what he'd be like in person.
he gave me an orgasm. multiple times. the weird stuff he did in middle school is now irrelevant.
Fuck you. how could you leave me passed out hangin out my truck window when you knew it was starting to rain?
Ummm. I just wanna say this now: Don't let me invite the band back to the apartment to see my stripper pole.
Dude, someone broke the toilet seat in two, the is a pair of panties on the kitchen counter, and the entire house smells like a brewery
At front desk. Got a beer drinking pigeon.
I don't know what kind of soup they made, but it smells like condoms.
So we became Pizza Strippers- we stripped and asked for slices of pizza in return.
When you're really drunk, Japanese toilets just have an unnecessary amount of buttons.
Running my fingers through my hair was like that scene in Patch Adams where the old lady got to swim in a pool of pasta. I love Molly.
Should probably stop going into the gas station to look for the most normal person to hitch a ride with to drive me to a party
all his sexual metaphors involve condiments, should I worry?
how much of this shit do i need to take before i think its a good idea to set the house on fire and scream satanic mantras?
Try to fuck my roomie AND steal my slippers: you are no longer my favorite cousin.
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