He is such a slut. More and more my type.
there needs to be a "man fax report". like car fax. type in the guys name and bday and up pops all the bad shit he's ever done.
I mistook a propane tank for a keg.
Dipping doritos in ranch. Why doesn't he love me?
My liver just had a heart attack.
You went through my pantry and left one of everything in the box. One cracker. One cheesit. One piece of cereal. I really fucking hate you.
I found him in the kitchen singing German metal into a banana while simultaneously mixing brownie batter. He didn't have any pants on.
In bathroom. Hand in air with cell phone. Help.
One eye has cum in it and the other has sunscreen
summertime
2015 is a year for health and mental stability and alas we are not yet there so yolo
Everyone thinks it's an okay idea now until I'm overdoing it on the vodka/clubs, dancing on a table, trying to make out with the groom.
I can't sleep. Send Llama pictures.
So you can text and rub it at the same time? Bravo.
I can do anything and masturbate, if I truly wanted to.
When I walked out of the bathroom and you were literally dancing, you looked at me and said 'this is how I dance'. And then continued.
I just found a condom in my jolly ranchers bag. This is a good omen.
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