Love and Lists is the first book in the Chocolate Lovers spinoff - Chocoholics: The foul-mouthed offspring tell their stories.
Twenty-five-year-old Gavin Ellis has always had the love and support of his family ever since he was a little boy and couldn't stop talking about his penis. He's also always had their unsolicited advice and uncanny knack of embarrassing him at all costs. Now that he's an adult and trying to convince the love of his life to love him back, things haven't changed very much from when he was younger.
When Gavin's best friend Tyler suggests he make a to-do list of items that will ensure he wins the girl, Gavin is one-hundred-percent on board: after a few six packs.
After puking in the shrubs, a bad experience with Viagra, a Sex-Ed course gone wrong, and a slew of other mishaps courtesy of his family and friends, Gavin is pretty sure this list will be the death of him.
Sometimes, trying to make someone love you with a list isn't always the best idea. Especially when "Show her your penis" is the first "to-do" item..
Chocoholics, Tome 1 : Love and Lists
Can someone die from a severe case of blue balls?
Yep, that just happened. I just typed that exact phrase into the Google search engine.
My mother always warned me to stay away from Google. She told me it was the devil. I’m twenty-five years old and I still don’t listen to my mother.
According to Wiki, the answer is NO. Just, no. Period. The end. No explanation whatsoever. You would think the person answering these questions could have elaborated just a little bit. Like, “No. You cannot die from blue balls, you f**king moron. Why the hell are you even asking this question? You do realize your internet history can and will be seen by everyone you know at some point in your life, right?”
Note to self: delete internet history. I need to consult my mom on this. I believe I came across a contract between her and my Aunt Liz a few years ago …
You’re probably wondering why I’m curious if someone can die from blue balls. You’re probably also wondering how in the hell I can possibly be twenty-five years old when just yesterday I was four. I know, it’s a tough pill to swallow. I’m not a foul-mouthed, cute little kid anymore. I’m now a foul-mouthed, cute adult. I take after my parents, so obviously I’m good looking. That might sound conceited to you, but oh well. I’m not one of those guys who are all “Awwwww, shucks. You really think I’m good looking? Naaaaah, I’m just me.”
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