If attempting to monetize your most private confessions is any sign of a recession, I'd say we're at the tip of an iceberg that would make the dotcom bubble look like like an afterthought. I'll be expecting a lot more of this until Jim Cramer capitulates.
Turns out there's absolutely no shortage of individuals that consider teaching their penis the macarena a societal norm. A Superb technique no doubt, but probably not for beginners. Chances are you'll misjudge one 360 no-scope and catch a local in the crossfire. It's called "The Ben Roethlisberger" and it'll make you wish you kept the half boners at home.
You know what you get when you cast a guy that looks like he still gets the crust cut off his peanut butter and banana sandwiches? Believability mother fucker, that's what. Remove the Bangbros logo and scatter a few Star Wars Amibos in the background and I would have defended it's authenticity until the end of time.
Tripling down on a sub-culture that has defied all odds and normalized paying for content less interesting than giving Betty White 15 unsupervised minutes with a lawn sprinkler. These hype machines never seem to deliver. But the ones that come up really short? These might get a nut or 5 out of you. [PART I] [PART II]
Today's episode isn't about the money. It's about sending a message. Specifically to the derelicts that have used the Riemann hypothesis and Swinnerton-Dyer conjecture to justify paying for what you're about to see: Stop it. Get some help.
Paying someone on the internet to watch you jerk off on webcam seems pathetic and sad overall, but this one has to hold back laughing when she see's this fuckin guys dick.
Start Door Dashing your scottish woodcocks, and fire up the Tay Tay playlist because you're about to witness the pinnacle of crossbreeding the Starship Troopers prequel we never got with a porn studio that actually has funding. Ridley Scott; Take notes.
Symptom #67 that you've graduated from pornstar to full blown drama queen: 3 pumps from Manuel Ferrara's ham hog makes her tap out faster than the Frank Shamrock/Kevin Jackson fight (look it up). Like my reaction after hearing Oprah Winfrey wants to run for president, you can literally see fear in her eyes.
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.
