I sent you an email today but due to work restrictions, I had to misspell choke sex
I have a story that starts with Nutella and ends with sex in the laundry building at RIT.
Sign #1 this conference will suck: Ice breaker question, how many proud virgins do we have in the room, overwhelming response. Looks like I'm not getting laid this weekend.
You realize if you die tommorow, the last memory i'll ever have of you is your ballsack on skype
I feel like dying is the new "adopt an african baby"
what date should I let him know how fucked up I am?
I've now graduated to the level of gay where I can tell Tegan and Sara apart.
The fact that I found him in his Ninja Turtles t-shirt next to six empty and obviously consumed packs of EasyMac watching reruns of Becker certainly made telling him that I wanted a divorce so much easier than I had planned.
Now he's lighting his socks on fire
So can we talk about how we all three made out with the bike taxi driver in lieu of paying him. I'm not even mad, that's resourceful. You know what married girls would have had to do? They'd have had to pay.
He barely got in the door before she began to shriek like a banshee and punch him. His rainbow wig is still hanging from the front porch as a "warning to all other clowns".
I have to answer enough questions about you, I don't need your uterus tossed in the conversation.
Yeah he drove 30 minutes at 3 AM to come fuck me in my neighbors treehouse
I couldn't really understand you because you were really quiet and I said "I don't know what you're saying, it's kind of a big mumble" and you said "that sums up my life"
On a scale of 1 to i should hide, how deep did i dig my grave?
Randomize
