the Monday before Thanksgiving is not a Monday at all. Just Thursday in Monday suit.
I have the Lakers game on, but all I can think about is having sex with you. Not sure what you've done here.
After we finished he asked if I knew if it was a boy or girl. Diet. Starts. Now.
The fact that you think you peed off a roof shows you shouldn't have been on a roof.
Uhh, there's a legit bruise on my boob.. Again how does he manage this
Well, love is in the air. And by that I mean: it seriously smells like sex in here.
Good. I hope they all got E.Coli from snorting coke off of some homeless prick's asshole.
My Grandma made me promise not to drink more beer, so I'm chugging wine.
I just had to call my mom to come pick me up stoned at a Lana's house and beg her to buy me Taco Bell. I'm graduating from college in 14 hours. Fuck
I was jerking him off and in two seconds he went from "oh yeah that feels good" to "what day is Thanksgiving again?" and then back again. Like wtf.
She's 90% sass and 10% boobs
I would give a kidney to fuck him and he knows it. That bastard.
It's the kinda thing that makes you wanna buy a rainbow flag and fight republicans and kiss girls
It's such a sad loss when a hot guy finds Jesus and grows a neckbeard
I woke up in his closet, with my shirt inside out and backwards, Rolos in my hand, a tortilla with a face carved into it stuck to the fridge with a magnet, a homemade bong next to the bed, and the door off the hinges... I need a chaperone.
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