Meet Allen. At almost 50 years old, he's never had sex and is on the verge of losing all hope. Now it's up to a $400 goth hooker with a heart of gold to help him lose his virginity once and for all... or will he fuck it all up?
You can brag about your male pattern baldness all you want homeboy. But if you're not turning all vaginas within a 3 mile distance into your own personal bowl of Hungry Jack Mashed Potatoes, are you even living the Costanza?
He may be mentally challenged and physically deformed to the point of handicap, but he's had a threesome and I haven't. A true inspiration to all and possibly the anti-hero our generation needs.
You originally saw her at the end of [Public Degen 12]. Turns out this misfit has a treasure trove of historical content featuring her getting kung pow'd by the general public in all kinds of places you should never be caught slamming ham in. Maybe next time she can participate in the west's most notable pastimes: Cuckolding within 300 yards of a 7-Eleven.
Flat-chested girls everywhere rejoice because there's worse things in life than having no tits. You could have weird tits and add implants, leaving you with gigantic weird sideshow tits. And back problems.
You know you're in the golden age of porn when someone consults Michael Bay for their scene. Too bad the novelty of implied homicide wears off pretty quick when you have to multitask cumshots with Die Hard 1.
Today's episode isn't about the money. It's about sending a message. Specifically to the derelicts that have used the Riemann hypothesis and Swinnerton-Dyer conjecture to justify paying for what you're about to see: Stop it. Get some help.
hmm, strange. Here I am thinking the whole "i'm training to turn my uterus into a parking garage for hellcats" was no longer a lucrative financial path worth pursuing. And then the last girl went ahead proved me wrong.
The farther below the equator you go, the crazier behavior you'll find. A novel concept, and one that's officially reinforced by the pair of donut glazers walking the streets like it's fucking fashion week. Just being an observer might give you Hep-C.
You can brag about your triple digit IQ all you want bruh. If you're not using it to turn your asshole into a bowl of Bob Evans Mashed Potatoes it's about as useful as a hot shower is to this classic r-word.
