I've never seen Gianna cave before, no matter how big the cock. It's as if her vaginal canal is made of Teflon, with more square footage than James Van Der Beek's forehead. But after watching this, I'm not so sure.
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.
We're about to document the dream of a girl that's had more sexual partners than Tom Brady's 2022 passing yards, or create the gentleman's guide to recreational pharmaceutical use. Either way: NO REFUNDS.
We got a pretty diverse group of fatherless degeneration this time around. Whether it's Discovery Channel's new poster girl at the 0:35 second mark, or the champ going for his 17th title at 4:20, you're guaranteed at least one reason to start day drinking again.
#3 is quite adorable. She may not understand the consequences, but her facial expressions certainly have a story to tell.. namely "ouch, that hurts", "please hurry up" and "why in the fuck did I quit my job at Hotdog On A Stick for this shit". Live and learn baby.
Say hello to your new idol. He's a recent graduate from the WWE school of acting for the mentally challenged and still manages to pull more suburban MILF poon then a 4-starred gynecologist on YELP. This particular desperate housewife is a prime example of why you should always FYD.
Remember the frigid chick that randomly started sobbing in the middle of a Rocco shoot? It was actually pretty touching, to both my heart & my penis. But apparently that encounter was only chapter 1 in a saga of piss-poor decisions.
Meet Ava. She's 19, highly optimistic and isn't afraid of a challenge. Unfortunately only two situations leave a person with this kind of mess to clean up. Post-anal or post-white castle? You be the judge.
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.
