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.
What's mine is yours. And what's yours makes her think walking away from that 4-year degree in Anthropological Gender Studies of Amazonian Tree Frogs to do this instead was a bad idea.
Anybody have the technical name for this phenomenon? or a real explanation? Specifically one that doesn't involve voodoo dolls, Penn & Teller or Planet Wing's suicide sauce. I want answers.
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.
You know you had fun when the next day you wake up with a concussion and realize you not only left your phone, but you also forgot your clothes, underwear, sunglasses and self-respect at the club.
A happily married couple is currently pushing the boundaries of amateur porn. They're both jizz fanatics that mix their love of semen with public escapades. I wish I had a friend with a wife like this.
These porn producers, always so preoccupied with if they could, but never stopping to wonder if they should. I can't even imagine how awkward this scene must of been to film for everyone involved.
