Traditional association with Juggalos tends to be littered with words like disfigured and faygo and the aroma of a Sudanese outhouse... but not today. I'll bet my bottom dollar underneath all of that Walmart makeup, Krustina the Klown is a girl worth getting to know. Support them [-HERE-] and [-HERE-]
You originally saw her at the end of [Public Degen 12]. Turns out this misfit has a treasure trove of historical content featuring her getting kung pow'd by the general public in all kinds of places you should never be caught slamming ham in. Maybe next time she can participate in the west's most notable pastimes: Cuckolding within 300 yards of a 7-Eleven.
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.
Zero evidence of her chromosome count, but judging by this performance it's safe to say we're working with a surplus here. Not exactly a stark contrast for this website, but next time I want a female performance to leave me softer than a bowl of cotton candy I'll just turn on Impact Wrestling.
Consider this an open letter to the content creators out there: I will donate the $13.75 I made trading Krypto Kittys with down syndrome to a charity of your choosing, in exchange for promising to never use condiments on your wiener ever again. The balls are in your courts.
For fuck sakes, these dorks could've thrown a dart at any billboard in Las Vegas and found better ideas to attach to their bodies permanently. I haven't seen people this far out of their comfort zones since the launch of Burger King's ultimate breakfast platter.
Not since ejaculating to Samuel L Jackson's death scene in Deep Blue Sea have I felt this much cinematographic remorse. They just let his wonder worm flap around without even an attempt at Photoshop. Five more leading roles like this and she'll be ready for Paul Anderson.
So, who's really to blame here? The horse farm that secured their perimeter to keep her away from the livestock, or the guy with 4 Q's in his name that's keeping her on a 1-token drip for the past 4 hours?
What weighs 325 pounds, has hair worse than Phil Spector, and secretly enjoys getting karate-kicked in the appendix while ripping ass? This chick's 798th fuck buddy, and he's not even the worst of the bunch.
Another historical moment that will make you question inter-metropolitan leisure, or reason #274 trailer parks will never receive subsidized housing? I don't know, but Benjamin Franklin didn't die for this.
