There's only two people on Earth that should never be caught fishing for brown trouts: Lindsay Lohan in her 'i'll snort Tide Pods' phase, and this chick. She's 19, anti-semen and dumber than a mailbox on Sunday. In other words: she was BORN for eFukt.
Symptom #67 that you've graduated from pornstar to full blown drama queen: 3 pumps from Manuel Ferrara's ham hog makes her tap out faster than the Frank Shamrock/Kevin Jackson fight (look it up). Like my reaction after hearing Oprah Winfrey wants to run for president, you can literally see fear in her eyes.
What happens when you get more desperate than Marvel shoving 93% of the MCU into the new Avenger's Movie just to stay relevant? A little bit of Magic. And a tad bit of whimsy.
Two things you should definitely abandon before agreeing to have sex with total strangers: Self-respect and Beef-a-roni. One of these is more important than the other, and I'm just gonna let you figure out what order they should be in.
It's feminism month, and to celebrate we're going to have a peek at the standard protocol for dating in Colombia (or so I'm told). Technology has gifted us the ability to see this in real time and saved millions of curious Carlos's from contracting their own case of jungle butt crabs. Surprisingly every one of these girls is a USA 10, so plan your spring break accordingly.
This might eradicate any train-running fantasies you might have once had. But it will also peak your curiosity as to how Danny Glover spends a Saturday night with friends. It's what us Internet folk call a video that's perfectly balanced, as all things should be.
Go ahead and label this the blurring of lines between equality in the work place and PTSD, as illustrated by sex acts that have led more adult diaper sales than In n' Out's Animal Style. Never before has adult entertainment made me prouder of my cataclysmic cache of Walmart rewards points.
"France has neither winter nor summer nor morals and has usually been governed by prostitutes... apart from these drawbacks it is a fine country." - Mark Twain
Poor prosti gets sandbagged by a local gentleman who's only sexual experience involves Walmart's checkout line & Colt 45. But apparently her dugout is built for the major leagues, cause despite his John McLane ingenuity... she still walks away with a smile. Fucking amazing.
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.
