She's having anal problems of the fecal variety and it's fucking up the shoot. Her defense? All the butt secks is making her cum and she just cant contain herself. Uh huh. I know where this is going.
At this point I'm not even questioning human behavior. The only thing separating all of us from being narrated by David Attenborough, are complicated sneakers and semi-automatic weapons. Turns out the Internet may have been a mistake after all. Parts: [1] [2] [3]
I haven't come across so much reason to develop erectile dysfunction on purpose since going down the lore on [this social media creature]. It truly is an unfortunate day to have eyes.
What the fuck happened to April O'neil? It seems a few years ago she entered into some sort of porn studio residency and is being forced to churn out horrendous shit like this at gun point. Today's flavor? One of the few Fortnite players that doesn't have body odor reminiscent of Regal popcorn butter". POGGERS IN CHAT ༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ
"I'll tell ya one thing about my personal life that I've never told before. I never fucked a ten, but one night, I fucked five twos. And I think that ought to count. I think that ought to go in your record as a positive achievement." - George Carlin
What weighs 95 pounds, likes the look of cock, and gets messy at the Arizona glory hole? Yeah, that chick. Personally she annoys me to death, but some of you fukr's can't get enough.
Epic poker face @ .57 mark. I call this one the 'i totally just nutted in my own mouth but i dont even give a fuck cause i have a 6.7 inch penis and listen to Rage Against The Machine on vinyl' look. Dude's got that shit mastered.
Of all the story lines you could choose, expedited shipping would be last on my fucking list. Then again, so is paying autistic girls in gift cards to round out your threesome so maybe I don't see the vision. Perhaps decades of inbreeding and limiting toothbrush ownership to 1 per home has carved itself into a niche I can only describe as: Inflation-Friendly Walmart Porn.
Becky Bagels foolishly thinks her road trip to the swampland is going to be an uneventful one. That is, until her travel guide delivers the kind of backdoor beatdown that insurance companies are suddenly starting to add in-network coverage for. Many such cases.
Based on a true story about a peanut butter sandwich, the dangers of masturbating, and how Aunt Opal made her nephew a man. A man with issues needing life long therapy, but a man none the less.
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.
You clicked the original one so many damn times, I had to dive deeper into her discography. Unfortunately it turns out all her roads lead to this evolutionary cul-de-sac using her as the only form of exercise he's seen since Jock Jams was a thing. Don't look that up. [-PART I-]
