my phone is just a graveyard for last nights mistakes. at least it's giving me hints as to where i was though, i'm like carmen sandiego
the last thing i remember is you screaming lets hunt humans.
I hate the Packers so much, I wouldn't cheer for them if they were playing al Qaeda.
I'll probably just lay on my couch bra-less sipping wine out of a straw so I don't have to lift my head.
Oh my god what did I do. My hands are scraped, there are pickles on the floor, my clothes are wet, and I don't remember how I get here. Thank you.
If you call getting home safe by sprinting down Spanish Harlem barefoot still rolling then ya I made it
I'm petty sure you said "hold on let me make my nipples hard, they look better"
You sat on a wall pretending to be a gargoyle before shouting "batman!" and jumping at me
I'm the drunk Des Moines deserves, but not the one it needs
"I'm looking more at his dick bulge." Never thought I'd hear those words come out of my boyfriend's mouth.
It's getting harder and harder to fake orgasms as I get older.
He overslept for our prescheduled morning sex. The fact that my vagina isn't enough to get him out of bed was the last straw.
If my dick was big enough to fuck the eye of a hurricane, I would.
So on a scale of 1-10 how mad would you be if I sent you a picture from the inside of a strip club
you poured beer in your mouth so you could be a beer pong cup for her to drink out of/make out with
Did it work?
Anyone who does not know who Paul McCartney is does NOT get to put hands in my pants
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