Auto-fellaters, Braingasms and a straight up public service announcement fists should only be use in a boxing ring. Today's episode is more unforgiving than my local mall security that time I was discovered defecating in Anthropologie's Aromatic and Ambiance fragrance section.
Not since ejaculating to Samuel L Jackson's death scene in Deep Blue Sea have I felt this much cinematographic remorse. They just let his wonder worm flap around without even an attempt at Photoshop. Five more leading roles like this and she'll be ready for Paul Anderson.
A special "BRUH" moment for clip #4. I honestly haven't seen a woman that concerned since I test ran the floor units in Home Depot's toilet bowl section after White Castle started selling their burgers by the hundreds. Let's just say I'm not allowed to improve my house again until 2027. TAKE IT AWAY CORPSEGRINDER.
What does a Toyota Supra, backwoods and a washer machine have in common? In most cases, absolutely fucking nothing. But this isn't like most cases. This is Czech pornography, the final frontier in sexual retardation.
New fetish unlocked at the 2:35 mark: Wearing your friends fish purses like a pair of Jimmy Choo platforms. Except in this version you don't have to cough up a mortgage payment on 5th avenue before getting ankle deep in fashion week. Bargain of the century. [more: Y809Y]
Not really surprising from a girl that calls herself Wisconsin Tiff, but the alternative medicine excuse for this behavior immediately goes out the window. Can't even blame the moon lettuce and it's sibling psychedelics for this digital footprint.
Don't let the Twitch staff wardrobe and lack of muscle fiber fool you: This army of limp-wristed, mouth-breathing fun-seekers have reached their breaking point and shit just hit the fan water-cooled RTX 3080. Consider this a warning to all women that can fit in a rowboat.
Kinda off topic, but 8 hrs ago it seemed like a good idea to eat 64 slices of American Cheese and wash it down with a bottle of gin. Then someone had the gall to say Have a good morning to me. Listen mom, unless you have a sewing kit and extensive knowledge of battle wounds, your request is permanently denied.
I don't know what rally that last girl ditched to shoot this scene, but her hygiene makes about as much sense as the 43,000 volts she pretends are running through her labia every time a guy named Ranjeete slaps down 50 Rupees on her "PubLiC cUmShOWs" ala Chaturbate.
Another chapter closed in a book that Barnes & Noble insists on displaying in the Sci-Fi section. Normally read in the dimly lit corner of a trailer park that doesn't show up on Google maps, surrounded by Newports and half-eaten cans of Costco's finest meatball ravioli.
