Cousin? Brother? Stepfather? How about all of the above. Not the slightest ounce of shame either. And when it comes to light that her brother/boyfriend did time in the pokey for murdering a person... all she can do is LOL. Definite keeper. Now watch her get DP'ed silly.
Many, many years ago, in the days of old known as 1997, an instructional VHS was forged. Watch and learn how to master the art of one handed typing with post-aspergers Winnie Cooper from the "Wonder Years".
From the clearance section of BackPage.com comes an escort sporting bed bugs, a wonky titty, and a heart of gold. Her entire scene is just one giant cluster fuck disaster of fail and it's beautiful.
Round 2 for the most depraved, fatherless clout-chasers on the Internet as we know it today today. I'm talking about real deal independent women here. The kind that pay for their birth control with subscriber money. [Part 1]
For a box that probably has more miles on it than grandads '69 Chevelle; it's in stellar condition. In fact, it might be setting the bar too high for fellow terrorKink enthusiasts to follow. I don't know if I should be impressed or slide in those DM's and ask for the cattle prod discounts. According to this video, they do exist. More RDG [HERE] and [HERE]
The real reason caucasian people have trouble getting a job is because they all started drug testing, and the only white recreational activities left are substance abuse, incest, patriotism, fords and watching millionaire black's play school yard games.
A scene gets a little too intense for Lexi when her costar bitch slaps the valtrex out of her face. After which her costar turned assailant keeps asking her "are you ok?"
Scene's over and it's time to go home... but first this starlet has a complete mental unraveling. Her tears and plight do little more than generate awkward lulz and kill the mood for the next girl.
Whore #3 is quite adorable. She may not understand the consequences, but her facial expressions certainly have a story to tell.. namely "ouch, that hurts", "please hurry up" and "why in the fuck did I quit my job at Hotdog On A Stick for this shit". Live and learn baby.
What happens when you let your BBC-obsessed husband talk you into the kind of Smackdown WWE would be jealous of? Here's a hint: You end up booking a legendary Iron Man match, but there's no winner.
Another edition of ratchet sex tape fails featuring hood rat stuff like fire alarms with dying batteries, one lopsided illegal butt implant and other ghetto stuff.
