Some "feels" I am glad I will never experience in life. Driving the speed limit, menstrual cramps, bamboo fingernail torture, or when a unlubed and unwelcome penis randomly kicks open the door to the house of pain.
Irrationally sized flobberweavels, a urethra that's suffered more abuse than whoever the fuck bought Barstool for $500 mil and the recreation of a classic in glorious high(er) definition. Don't think of this as the balanced breakfast you need, think of it as the one you deserve.
Not really surprising from a girl that calls herself Wisconsin Tiff, but the alternative medicine excuse for this behavior immediately goes out the window. Can't even blame the moon lettuce and it's sibling psychedelics for this digital footprint.
Today's episode isn't about the money. It's about sending a message. Specifically to the derelicts that have used the Riemann hypothesis and Swinnerton-Dyer conjecture to justify paying for what you're about to see: Stop it. Get some help.
First-timer foolishly assumes her debut appearance is going to be a walk in the park. Emphases on the word walk, because it looks like all her future tours of Italy at Olive Garden are going to be wheelchair accessible from this point forward. What in the fuck...
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]
Don't let the confidence in her voice fool you: This cholita's ability to withstand pain is about as real as her soggy pancakes in a pushup bra. As illustrated by his first, second and 17th attempt to keep a decent rhythm in her poo canoe. The end result? Well... you'll see.
Alright fellas, [-take a memo on your Newton-]: If girls aren't flocking to your Levi's like 1 star reviews to the newest Disney remake, then this might be in your future. Just keep track of those subscription fees so reality doesn't hit harder than 1996 did to Robert Downey Jr.
Three years later and it seems [our boy] has ditched the mashed potatoes recipe and moved on to crafting a signature carne asada. ¿Felicidades mi amigo?
I'll leave you with some wisdom my acquaintance at Panda Express bestowed upon me: Never underestimate a woman's will to feed. She may have the phenotype of a New Jersey soccer mom... but when the adrenaline hits, watch the fuck out.
Classic cases of unbridled overconfidence. If only these creatures put as much effort into velcroing their crotches shut in public, as they did into experimenting with pain medications: Then maybe these permanent marks on their resumes could have been avoided. Yikes and gadzooks.
