A socially inept goober gets a job getting jerked off by a hottie and manages to fuck it up, dashing his dreams of porn stardom in the process. It's like the movie Rudy, if Rudy was thrown out the game before ever playing and never scored.
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.
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.
The pharyngeal reflex AKA laryngeal spasm AKA gag reflex exists to prevent us from dying, but it also makes it much harder to shove dicks down our throats.
Yeah uh... so is this what studio porn has evolved into? Because if I've lived to the point where people are actually spending money on producing cleverly disguised Cialis commercials we may have finally reached the bottom...
Those crazy porn directors have made a full movie featuring the entire systematic sexual conditioning of ones daughter into a fuck buddy. All in magnificent POV. Disturbing? Sure. But is it fappable?
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?
The downside to dating a girl with the self-awareness of a TikTok investor? Literally nothing. Not even an unannounced visit to vegemite valley is enough to send her running. Either we have a cold-blooded liar on our hands, or that pudding hatch is spring-loaded.
I was gonna tag one girl as "Funky Town" to see how many newcomers Google themselves right off the Internet, but I choose a more honorably path. So what did we end up learning today? Sharp objects and SNES soundtracks work extremely well together. That's what. Support cyclo-boob [HERE]
A rousing assembly of women that don't believe teh night is over until their clout levels have reached unmeasurable proportions. Reminiscent of a reoccurring dream I keep having involving Brock Lesnar and Long John Silver’s Cocktail Sauce.
