My dear roommate, wrapped in her cocoon of junk food behind her walls of countless root beer cans is blissfully unaware of the vigorous thrusting occurring on the opposite side of the wall. She bops to Ke$ha and devours a greasy bag of Lord-only-knows-what while I try my hardest to pretend I don’t hear the ecstatic moans and awkward squeaks through paper mache walls. Really M? Forgive me if I'm being an ignorant virgin, but you're very well-practiced so surely you must have figured out a way to turn down the volume by now.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
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