After straddling a butt plug as thick as a tree trunk, this chicks rectum starts oozing out blood like Owen Wilson's wrists after making another shitty movie.
Irrationally sized flobberweavels, a urethra that's suffered more abuse than whoever the fuck bought Barstool for $500 mil and the recreation of a classic in glorious high(er) definition. Don't think of this as the balanced breakfast you need, think of it as the one you deserve.
If there's one thing that never fails to get me questioning the future of this whole human race experiment; it's what the most unassuming person will consider a sexual accessory. So here's about 6 of them. That's right, six. As in the number of times I replayed the noise that Pringles can made when ricocheting off her head.
I like her face. I like her enthusiasm. But above all I like her devotion to commitment. Her borderline absent reaction to an explosive device detonating inside her spincther however, has reinforced my stance on late-term abortions. Like, 35 years late. Toss a token in the abyss via the source link.
The time has come for the followup of a story that will be told in the Internet history books. So strap in and prepare to have your yamaka blown the fuck off, cause we're going on a trip that involves domestic abuse, race rage white supremacy and about 937 reasons not to get married. [Part 1]
Everybody has a gift. For some, it's convincing solid 4's to double up on their bald headed field mice while simultaneously solving a sudoku. For others, it's knitting. But that last girl? Whoever is writing the next Final Destination movie better start taking some fucking notes.
Alright fellas, [-take a memo on your Newton-]: If girls aren't flocking to your Levi's like 1 star reviews to the newest Disney remake, then this might be in your future. Just keep track of those subscription fees so reality doesn't hit harder than 1996 did to Robert Downey Jr.
Space station sized cock. Peanut of a butthole. Yeah, we've seen this story before but the language barrier almost turns this one into a homicide. Moral of the story: Always identify your opponent before agreeing to fight them. I'm talking to you, Jake Paul victims.
There's a thin line between trailer park erotica, and soul-deep emotional trauma. Where that line exists I don't know... but judging by the amount of dollar store tattoos I'm seeing on that body, I'd say this human Hindenburg sure as fuck does.
Backpage's finest goes by "daddy's baby anal queen" and she aspires for greatness via her butthole. The only problem is she hates anal and her possibly worm-infested colon is so tight, it's like trying to fit an elephant in a Safeway bag.
The more inbreeding in your bloodline, the further you'll go to seek sexual satisfaction. A simple concept, officially reinforced by whatever director's cut episode of Survivor Man is going on in that last clip. I'll put it this way; in comparison it makes Jeppson's Malort seem like a fucking delicacy. It's that abhorrent.
