Get out...Run...Or there's going to be a dick in your mailbox
I'm sorry for the crack den comment. You have a lovely apartment.
giving a blow job on a jetski isn't as easy as it sounds.
I told him that he is like a snow storm I never know when he is coming, how many inches I will get, or how long it will last
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he was so drunk he doesn't remember anything. I have to break up with him all over again
I just don't have the heart to tell my mom you peed in our washer machine last night.
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.
Also you know what's worse than drunk texting? Drunk leaving soup on your hot neighbor's porch.
He always takes me to get taco bell after we hook up in his car. It's sort of become a booty call tradition.
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Did you seriously just hashtag my sex life as #yolo2013?
I told her I didn't have a condom. She then sized me with her thumb and finger and tossed me a large. Then I asked her to marry me.
Where are you in relation to the mariatchi band?
All of my Tinder matches have neck tattoos. It's like God wants me to go to jail again.
I've faked every orgasm I've ever had, I think I can fake being sick for 8 hours.
On a scale of 1 to shit show you were "i just pissed myself"
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