The 70's were a special time in history where no one gave a fuck. Smoking in hospitals, untamed pubes, sexually harassing midgets at the workplace, and faking a cum shot with a limp penis and shampoo? No problem. Nothing was sacred.
A laptop dancing internet stripper takes her fapping to the streets. Only problem is a viewer tipped off building security and her guerrilla sexual tactics are gonna get cut short.
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.
2004: Facebook launches for the first time, Ashlee Simpson jigged her way into irrelevancy and this jovial mother fucker was using his power of aspergers to give second stringers a reason to show up on set. Half girth, half Pokemon.
You know you're in some sort of bat shit crazy porn renaissance when Japan comes in last on the list of things you shouldn't masturbate to. Between the Tijuana down syndrome family plan and whatever the fuck Insane Clown Posse is doing at 1:45, idk if I should cum or cry.
Just scroll to the 4:20 mark for the definitive highlight of this sacrilegious compilation of misguided deviants. Last time I saw self-harm this determined was in a max-coping GME thread on wallstreetbets. And much like his/her ability to hold in a solid, I think it's time to pack it up and admit defeat. disclaimer: This is financial advice [you retard].
Zero evidence of her chromosome count, but judging by this performance it's safe to say we're working with a surplus here. Not exactly a stark contrast for this website, but next time I want a female performance to leave me softer than a bowl of cotton candy I'll just turn on Impact Wrestling.
Her claim to fame is deplorable... but when the clothes come off her barbarian hips look like they can survive giving birth to Danny Devito and it's fuckin' beautiful. 5/5 Yelp stars, would eat again.
This piece highlights some cases of shoulda locked the fucking door but I'm thinking with my genitals and other hilarious cases of people getting busted.
If the 1980's taught me something, it's that ANYthing goes as long as there's a killer soundtrack behind you. Except this. Not even the renaissance of crack will be held liable for this shit.
Based on a true story about a peanut butter sandwich, the dangers of masturbating, and how Aunt Opal made her nephew a man. A man with issues needing life long therapy, but a man none the less.
