Compliments aren't my strong point, but I must say... chick in the yellow dress is fucking stunning. I'd readily eat Honey Nut Cherrios out of Philip Seymour Hoffman's crusty asshole just for a chance to hold her hand. Someone Russian please hook it up.
Tori Spelling's Guatemalan tit job, the hole in a Walmart bathroom stall and discounted Hamburger Helper on Craigslist: Three things I'd touch before signing up for story time from Rebel "my brain is bigger than my butthole" Lynn ever fucking again.
If you haven't already, check out the rest of the series and then come back. We're going to meet a girl who has never blowjob'd before, plus a man who has a breakdown. While fucking a cake. So go get your little sister 'cause it's gonna be a really swag time.
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.
Nothing says "the pandemic is over" quite like the uptick in girls increasing their social skank rank by taking their 1-man-band act on the road. Nearly 13 displays of attention-whoring so unprecedented, you'll schedule an STD test just for watching it.
Amber Rayne climbs to the top of America's Most Wanted. Alanah Rae is in desperate need for Dr. Phillip. And the girl at the end has no officially listed name, and that's the bottom line because Stone Cold Steve Autism said so.
Belladonna is down for dog cock, Proxy Paige wants to fuck her own mom, & Annette Schwarz gets wet thinking about vomiting on senior citizens. Goodbye okcupid.com, my search for companionship has been fulfilled.
It may not be explicitly written in the rule book, but there's only one translation for the body language on the girl going Milli Vanilli on herself. And it exists somewhere in between "Car Batteries Are Not Sex Toys" and "Oops My Asshole Fell Out".
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.
