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We don't have to have sex, let's just see if it fits.
Not having any friends means I'm always the pretty one.
I'm NOT crying, you dumbfuck. I'm having an allergic reaction to feelings.
I shouldn't be spending the most fuckable years of my life not fucking.
Muttering "fuck this shit" and walking away will never feel as therapeutic as yelling "FUUUUCK THIS SHIT" and flipping over a table.
Fuck you, space between my driver's seat and center console that's just the right size to accommodate every fucking thing except my hand.
You know what feels better than cotton? Fucking. Fucking should be the fabric of our lives, not cotton.
My mirror and my camera have two completely different ideas of what I look like.
I like my men like I like my cookies, shoved in my mouth and leaving a mess on my tits.
Never knew why pajama tops had pockets on them, but I just filled mine up with cookies to bring back to bed and now it makes complete sense.
I'd settle for an enemy with benefits.
If I were a Care Bear I'd be I Don't Care Bear.
If you want to know whether a chick is a cunt or not, just call her a cunt. Nothing sets off a crazy cunt like being called a cunt.
I'm pretty sure I'm dead inside, but I don't care because I'm still really fucking hot on the outside.
Let's have sex now and worry about ruining our friendship later.
Psycho bitches really ruin it for us normal bitches who are dead inside and don't give a fuck.
I look pretty good for someone who's dead on the inside.
Cunts sure do hate the word cunt.
Unlike 'I love you,' it's never too soon in a relationship to whisper 'fist me like a puppet.'
Swearing on Twitter is my anti-drug. Come for the cuteness, stay for the rage. I say FUCK! a lot.
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