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.
2004: Facebook launches for the first time, Ashlee Simpson jigged her way into irrelevancy and this jovial mother fucker was using his power of aspergers to give second stringers a reason to show up on set. Half girth, half Pokemon.
Easily the most deplorable attempt at eroticism to ever grace my 11" Amiga computer monitor [this week]. And that's coming from a human being who's seen more than 23 consecutive mins of a Dwayne Johnson movie. My opinion matters.
If the 1980's taught me something, it's that ANYthing goes as long as there's a killer soundtrack behind you. Except this. Not even the renaissance of crack will be held liable for this shit.
The 70's were a special time in history where no one gave a fuck. Smoking in hospitals, untamed pubes, sexually harassing midgets at the workplace, and faking a cum shot with a limp penis and shampoo? No problem. Nothing was sacred.
The Oakland Doorknob. German Knuckle Cake. Mongolian Taco Punching. Not buying Bitcoin when it was 73 cents. It goes by a lotta different names. But the shame... thats always the same.
Today's lessons: Little Dicky is a literal name (4:21), Tourism is still alive and well (0:11) and statistically speaking, this is the least likely way to acquire an STD in public. Trust me, I've seen 3 full episodes of House M.D.
idk, seems pretty predictable to me. Once the enchantment of a $200 payday and living their monthly YOLO moments has worn off, anxiety and regret should be expected. But shoutouts to wish.com for making these precious memories possible.
Ahh, the beautiful girls that fap for internet money. It's a stressful job full of internet chat trolls and dildos that need a power outlet. Understandably they can sometimes freak out a bit.
First time I've seen a wife rental video where the girl and her hired gun are left more humiliated than the husband. 7 1/2 inches of New Orlean's finest essentially left them completely mute, save for some sobbing that is usually reserved for the customer service desk at Lululemon. Hilarious.
