There are traffic cones in the living room. One of them is yours.
Her dad smelled like someone lit a fart and burned their ass hairs.
I fell off the front porch last night. Actually.. I dove. I dove off the front porch.
Awww, you two will make beautiful abortions together...
You unbuttoned your shirt and started walking down the center of the road screaming traffic stops for Enrique Iglesias.
You might not want to come home tonight. Mom just found your vibrator and now she won't stop sobbing and holding a framed picture of you as a little kid.
Like fighting the continuous urge to sing Neil diamond "coming to America" kinda fucked up right now
He told me I was his first American. I feel like I should've brought a flag to plant on him.
Drinking from the bottle. In bed. Making dinosaur noises. Oh man.
I am never drinking with the goths again.
Last night was just a whirlwind of Mario Brothers and sex.
My boss just texted me, clearly drunk, and said get down here pronto with a handle of rum, 50 lbs. of cold cuts, and a BB gun. This is not why I went to law school.
So the makeout sesh? Not so great. His stubble rubbed my face raw, he tried to push me towards auto-erotic asphyxiation, and he licked my forehead. Twice.
Put on your bikini and meet me at the pool \nit’s cock o’clock!
I would let him fuck me right here in this laundromat. Praise Satan.
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