It's too bad they don't do returns or exchanges, because these tits look like fuckin' grocery bags with cabbages in them. UGH...would totes still smash, but shit them titties fucked up yo!
I don't know what the fuck this thing is, but I'm pretty sure it's sentient and has enough work done to require an oil change every 3000 miles. Further proof that Elon Musk is the future.
Remember that fat crybaby from one of the few episodes of The Maury Show that didn't involve the homeless giving handjobs in exchange for chicken mcnuggets? She had this uncanny ability to make hundreds of bad decisions in a row. Well, it appears she reproduced.
She's got the looks, she's got the body and she definitely has the talent. She can also use her vagina to keep your subs warm and hang a coat. Now she's stealing our hearts. Duck Tales. A woo ooh.
Yeah sure, looks neat now... but wait for the follow up video in a year when the labia is hanging like two flappy pancakes with weird scar-holes looking like some shit outta Hellraiser.
A rousing assembly of women that don't believe teh night is over until their clout levels have reached unmeasurable proportions. Reminiscent of a reoccurring dream I keep having involving Brock Lesnar and Long John Silver’s Cocktail Sauce.
Think your marriage is in trouble? Time to reevaluate things, Ham Hock. Today we have a pioneer of female empowerment that does it all. And by all I mean a.) buttsex b.) buttsex while wearing her wedding ring and admitting it on camera. yikes = big
Outside of ejaculating to Nicolas Cage's death scene in The Wicker Man, no male celebrity will bring you remorse quite like Simon 'Dirt Nasty' Rex. Former MTV VJ, rolls with Andy Milonakis... and 20 years ago he took a $100 payday to stick his dick in Zack Morris' bedroom carpet. [Diss Track by Traplord Skybaby]
Amber Rayne climbs to the top of America's Most Wanted. Alanah Rae is in desperate need for Dr. Phillip. And the girl at the end has no officially listed name, and that's the bottom line because Stone Cold Steve Autism said so.
Not exactly the most unexpected chain of events from a class of people that come less prepared for war than whoevers handicap stall I invaded at Waffle House last week. Sorry Wheels, but the bucket in the janitor's closet simply doesn't meet my capacity standard.
He came packing a mullet, social-awkwardness and the body type/skin tone of a marsh mellow with prescription glasses. But that day back in 1998, he was a hero for 10 minutes at a gentleman's club in Arkansas.
