She can't drink and she can't smoke weed. She might as well be dead to me.
She said my dick tasted like a junior mint. Ive decided im using this soap the rest of my life
I'm at your house, laying with your dog, eating taco meat, take your time.
You know what's soul crushing? Walking to subway and find out you were too drunk to put on shoes and being denied service.
Um. I literally have no words.
You kept showing the cop the bruises on the bottoms of your feet and claiming you were a medical mystery.
I just puked so hard I pissed myself. Outta my ass. I just won hangover of the century.
She once gave me sex advice over the phone while intoxicated. So no you don't have the cooler therapist.
Imagine getting smashed in the dick by a basketball. A basketball made of metal. With spikes. That's pretty much what his dick looked like.
Drunk yoga at 11 am turned into me sitting on the couch making fun of the girl in the instructional video. By the way, what the fuck is a third eye?
I resisted the urge to announce that it looks like a big crystal butt plug
why are there 3 differently sized panties on our kitchen counter?
His encouragement of my recreational drug use is the backbone of our nonrelationship. That, and rough animal sex and loud music.
You did a cartwheel, it was terrible.
I remember that cartwheel, it was okay.
He isn't understanding any of my Fetty Wap references. He may not be a keeper after all.
Oohh. Then yes, he is the Alpha Fuckboy.
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