Just when you think Brittany Bardot's HorrorPorn content was the most remorseful way to leave wet spots in your denim dungarees, she goes and shoots something like this. Sure is an interesting way of servicing the community tho. While normies reserve their public reamings for the Best Buy customer service line; she started her charity work at home.
New fetish unlocked at the 2:35 mark: Wearing your friends fish purses like a pair of Jimmy Choo platforms. Except in this version you don't have to cough up a mortgage payment on 5th avenue before getting ankle deep in fashion week. Bargain of the century. [more: Y809Y]
It truly never ends. Let's just label this one the Shawshank Redemption of "wtf, your load tastes like Alan Greenspan's deceased asshole" Alan probably isn't actually dead, but I trust that the implied mental image is still effective. Game on.
Looks like being a teenage cam girl is rough these days. Stuck living at home, she has to pull off stealthy ninja faps and even do her cam whoring literally right next to her unsuspecting mother.
I think her first mistake was swiping right inside a Walmart. That kind of risk taking can only translate into one thing: "your 17 inches of combo wieners doesn't phase me, please man up and turn my kidneys into a box of Idaho spud's classic mashed potatoes". Invitation accepted.
Another edition of ratchet sex tape fails featuring hood rat stuff like fire alarms with dying batteries, one lopsided illegal butt implant and other ghetto stuff.
Sad to see how camscamming has gone from "side gig" to "a race to see who can park a Kia Soul up their twat first". Then again... when your target demographic is people that consider hotdog water a cologne, you gotta be ready to adapt. Consider this bitch the Dave Grohl of CamSoda.
Some women that happen to look like rejected "Lord of the Rings" characters find themselves in a cheap hotel room, making a porn movie so atrocious that even the producer wouldn't show up to film it.
More than enough reasons (see: 1) to never "try that thing i saw on the Internet with my girlfriend". Somewhere between the beef bazooka blowouts and frantically Google searching "how to get cat litter out of my vagina" you'll lose that last shred of dignity Dr. Phil is always screeching about.
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.
