I'm blazed at jack in the box and my order number is 420. I wish everything in the world made this much sense.
I walked outside out to find her peeing in her toga with a cigar in one hand and her thong in the other
Sorry about giving you those ripped gym shorts after my dog ate your pants, but after the awkard BJ incident I didn't plan on hearing from you again
Just purchased ketchup, body wash, and lube. Hope you're ready for the post-memorial-day-cookout-shower-anal.
I began mixing captain Morgan and jack daniels and called it captain jack sparrow. I puked. a lot.
A very confused plastic surgeon just called. Apparently I called asking how much it costs to get a vodka funnel installed straight to my brain...
like i literally can feel my uterus getting frustrated at me for not being pregnant.
I need someone to play with my boobs. Even platonically. I just need a good groping
I swear to god if I see a single piece of genitalia I'm driving back to LI and smacking you back to the Italian Renaissance
You're going to love the baby's room.
I doubt it. I can't have sex there anymore. That severely limits the appeal of the room to me.
And a hot pocket after we fucked. Heaven.
Would an open wound count as good sex or bad sex?
I've never had to say don't judge me for chip clips in the shower before
I come home to my brother mixing skittles and vodka. We're all proud of him.
You don't make any sense
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