I'm thinking we should try to start remembering stuff we do. Althought I kinda like feeling like Nancy Drew the next morning.
More like the Hardy Boys cause its kinda like a team effort.
you ran down to the water at 3am and rolled in the sand and ran around screaming that you were the corn dog monster.
Don't worry about it. I've taken so much Plan B, my uterus is purely for show now.
I'd like to say he was whispering sweet nothings into my ear all night but really he was just whispering "pussyyy"
All I wanted was a "this is what America feels like" blowjob before I left. Is that too much to ask for?
You brought us all personal gifts you had stolen from the party and bellowed "hoes hoes hoes, clepto Santa loves you"
So for future reference.... it's a little unnerving when I can't get hold of you, and the last communication we had was, "Oh fuck... It's tequila"
she shotgunned a can of v8, threw the can on the ground and said, "fuck bitches get money" then passed out on the spot
I think I'm going to add the date I dumped his sorry ass as a life event on FB.
I think that's justified.
You were discovered in a bush, smoking, and singing "in the jungle" to yourself. Which explains the scratches, but not the orange paint.
I think my dove chocolate wrapper just told me to masturbate.
Do you know how hard it is to put a bandaid on a vagina?
Well... This is my last night at the resort. So far, the only thing that has been in my vagina is sand.
I smell like heartbreak.
Tequila and sloppy rebound sex?
How did you know?
I have just received a gold-medal-deserving sext. He wrote me a fucking novel. Not only am I incredibly turned on but I am beyond impressed. He is the sext god. I must bow to him.
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