Ashley Blue gets tossed to the ground after flaunting her diseased twat in the wrong girl's face. I'm afraid that canned tuna / Wisconsin aged cheddar aroma just ain't for everyone.
Getting your meat bag blown out within shouting distance of a stranger's apartment is a bold move. One of superiority tbh. Nancy and her 19 cats will think twice about filing a noise complaint when this lands in her inbox.
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.
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...
Who the fuck comes up with these hybrid fetish flicks? Next time you producers want to get creative, how about coating a machete in Zoloft and fucking Logan Paul up the cornholio until he's smiling like Matt Damon on the cover of Good Will Hunting? Google it.
Reminds me of something my grandpa used to say: Your output is only as good as your input. Not since the the trailer for Terminator Dark Fate have I been so disgusted with women over the age of 40.
I'm not sure a woman with more parking space between her gooch than New York City is on my list of "boner material". But it's 2026 and trying new things was one of the resolutions. Right between losing 19lbs and using toilet paper.
It's time to tackle a topic that has gone unanswered for far too long. And today we're doing it in such a way that'll leave you questioning both the average tolerance of the female sphincter and who should have really been the final boss of Monster Hunter Wilds. [my vote is cast]
Hot chicks + social anxiety. It's a phenomenal combination, second only to Mr. Pibb w/ Koala Yummies. Add a degree of sexual inexperience into the mix and you got yourself GF material, provided that they don't first end up in porn like this tard.
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.
