You came back with four clearly unattractive women and wanted to throw a dance party in my room.
It's like a puppy that we have to take care of at all times or else she'll get sad, lonely, and chew on the furniture. And by 'chew on the furniture', I mean have anonymous sex.
ALSO, bringing a stapler to the bar is a good idea
I have your car and your sandals. My shoes are somewhere under the puke couch. Safari time.
The face that yo gabba gabba comes up when I'm stoned and searching for yoga workouts is scary or dangerous
I don't know when it is this year, but if I ever text you an illegible text that also happens to contain sharks, Shark Week started.
I'm sorry your Amazon says buttplugs now
Moral of the story: I had sex to Back to the Future last night.
Some small part of me hopes I'm on the probationary list because of seeing the Dean at that fetish party.
Your actions as of last night have earned you over thirty new nicknames.
I never thought in a million years that I would have a threesome with my boss and his wife and yet here we are.
Weirdest drunk sex ever. His sweat dripped into my eyeball and then he looked down and asked me why I was crying. I went with it.
Sigh. I haven't seen a dick since August 22nd. And in case you forgot, it's January.
I think my pussy is going to freeze to the ground
When I get off work and you're not around to hang out with all I do is lay around in my underwear and eat potatoes.
Randomize
