#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.
Every girl should know that a slippery fuck toy plus a cavernous butthole can equal a trip to the ER. Next time save yourself the embarrassing shuffle through the waiting room and tie a string to that mother fucker.
The reality of having less musical talent than an asthmatic hedgehog must have hit her like a sac of 90's PSA videos and she needed clout, badly. How can life get any worse you ask? Well... I'll let searches for "how do you stitch a butthole" answer that.
The downside of crossbreeding compassion with an industry that considers rectal depth as a measuring stick for paycheck tiers? Every dude within the city boundaries will be socializing your cornhole like it's Chinese healthcare. edit: I decided to see what Sativa was up to nowadays... and... well... I was not disappointed
Don't let the confidence in her voice fool you: This cholita's ability to withstand pain is about as real as her soggy pancakes in a pushup bra. As illustrated by his first, second and 17th attempt to keep a decent rhythm in her poo canoe. The end result? Well... you'll see.
Nope, not even giving you a participation trophy for this one. I've sat through episodes of The Golden Girls with more enthusiasm. FREE TIP: When geriatric sitcoms produce stiffer erections than ur performance, it might be time rethink the whole iNdEpeNdenT wOmAn thing.
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.
Girls this determined to finish are hard to find without an Olympian background, so consider yourself lucky. Both for getting to bear witness to this unstoppable force, and for not having to be the one to explain the beef bourguignon shit stains on mom's new comforter.
If the 1980's taught me something, it's that ANYthing goes as long as there's a killer soundtrack behind you. Except this. Not even the renaissance of crack will be held liable for this shit.
As we head towards the final sunset of a year that gave more than one reason to disembowel our own eyeballs with a stinger missile, it's time we reflected. May 2024 bestow upon us more trolls, deeper holes and Twitch.com finishing it's metamorphosis into Chaturbate.
