The short story of an old hag and her epic battle with chronic constipation. Lots of raunchy anal in this one, along with constant reminders that the bitch is in dire need of a bowel movement. Some fuckin seriously amazing screenwriting here folks.
idk what the fuck is going on in that last clip. But if that isn't the body type of a woman that's muttered the words 'i used dijon mustard as lubricant while losing my virginity to a neighbor's pontiac fiero' at Festivus dinner, idk what is. Now apologize to the laws of thermal dynamics.
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.
All I ask is to watch and promise to never replicate. Especially that indoor power washing in the last video. One wrong push and you run the risk of turning the thunderstorm into a full blown shit shower. I call it "the heat seeking carmel farmer" and it's the #3 reason for divorce. Right behind finances and sending an application to Lily Philips.
Farted on, finger banged, told he looks like fuckin Robin Williams - this dude endures pain you can't even imagine. Fortunately he's a Sum 41 mosh pit survivor and holds a blackbelt in making Terminator-esque sound effects whilst flailing his arms like a fucking idiot, so it's all good.
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".
free tip: Don't be fooled by the "i collect exotic toothpastes and I'm saving my g-spot for Sonic the Hedgehog" appearance. She may appear to be innocent, but this is no sex noob. Despite leaking more soft serve than a birthday party at Carvel, she actually did finish the scene.
You know that feeling: When it's 0600 hours, the sun is shining, and you find yourself 4-inches deep inside the only girl that believed your story about using the same plumber as Zac Efron. In other words: Perfection. That is, unless Lucya "The Wolverine" Chernyshevsky is leader of the neighborhood watch.
It's not like Woodman sending 18 year old girls to the Depends section at Super Walmart is some sort of secret, so one has to question the motives at this point. Is it an act? Are they sadomasochists? And most importantly: If Ronda Rousey were to crowbar her vagina open, would it be comparable to the consistency of pulling apart a peanut butter sandwich?
I haven't come across so much reason to develop erectile dysfunction on purpose since going down the lore on [this social media creature]. It truly is an unfortunate day to have eyes.
Great box. Decent tits. But fall into whatever wet dream they paid her $47.00 to roleplay in here and you'll be left with a ball bag more shriveled than Iggy Pop. It's a sexual combination that doesn't seem to concern these freaks. Big Cringe = Big Dollas. And Big Dollas = Unlimited Crest White Strips. You'll see.
