This is why I carry a 12oz bottle of my mace in my center console. Rest stops are great for quick 'on the road' jackoff sessions but they're almost always laden with dirty old men looking to score free peep shows. If they want to see me make love to myself, they gotta pay... otherwise it's mace to the face.
If your social skank score is measured by the amount of times your bare ass has been caught on CCTV, I'd say these highway hoebags are sitting somewhere between "Code Orange" and "Threat to Society" Now, DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE YOU GO
Is this still considered pornography? Or something that gets submitted to a performative art school as a final project? Because if you're waxin carrot to shit like this, it might be is definitely time for intervention.
The lore actually goes deeper than you could have ever imagined. It's not about the volume of anonymous vagabond cocks. It's not about the money. It's about sending a [fucking] message.
This is essentially a hybrid of THIS video + THIS video, or in more comprehensive terms: 3 parts female empowerment, 141 parts bat-shit fucking retarded. ENJOY.
Notorious shake shack enthusiast decides to document one of his many attacks on titan. He sabotages his own rubbers, fakes empathy and could give less than a shit about divorce papers. This could only end one way.
Honestly, after making it to the end of this $27.00 budgeted shit show I'm inclined to believe the historical artifact should have stayed forgotten. The full version is over an hour long and makes The Blair Witch Project look like it's part of the Scorsese catalog. I do not recommend.
Browse the catalogue of Day-1 pornstars long enough and you're sure to end up finding women that treat getting hit with a couple of snowballs is akin to being put in front of a North Korean firing squad. And today my friends, there is no exception. More here.
Door Dash driver allegedly gets bait and switched with the soul sucking knob job of the century. She says there will be no apologies. He can't be contacted for further statements. Uh huh, I know where this is going; Plan for tomorrow, buy Depends today.
Imagine making it to the last clip of this degenerate fever dream and still thinking everything's gonna be alright. We are six (or seven) kinds of fucked if this conduct continues. James Sunderland sends his regards. More of Scene 1 [HERE].
