Hot chicks + social anxiety. It's a phenomenal combination, second only to Mr. Pibb w/ Koala Yummies. Add a degree of sexual inexperience into the mix and you got yourself GF material, provided that they don't first end up in porn like this tard.
I guess this is what happens when your Netflix and Chill night turns into a solo adventure and you start organizing the "Foreign Girls That Like WuTang" sub-folder in your NUT directory. I don't know, I see more reasons you shouldn't cornhole wild life thanks to her constant deer-in-headlights reaction than I do sitcom legends. Thoughts?
37 seconds in and two things will become apparent: 1: You have been grossly mislead about the average depth of the female rectum. And 2: The webcam community may want to look into insurance policies before accepting challenges from viewers named "RustyTurntable69"
Round #2 in a series that showcases the authentic side of some of our most interesting citizens. I'm not exactly sure what life choices have to be made to end up here, but it probably has something to do with blue checkmarks and whatever they put in those Impossible burgers.
idk where this the majority of these are happening, but try that in the US of A and the situation will be immediately amplified by a guy 1 Michelob Ultra away from a public rampage. That's not a warning, it's a spoiler. Never underestimate a man with garbage bags full of [this shit] in his crawl space.
This dude ejaculates Grey Poupon. Straight up. It's the most bedazzling shit I've seen since that picture of Mike Tyson appearing on a dog's asshole. Be sure to keep a towel handy in case you vomit and/or nut.
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.
Volume #5 in a collection of videos that Charlie Sheen would be ashamed to attach his name to. And without even a single appearance from a graduate of the Woodman School of Rectology, that's saying something.
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.
