Much like the Fast and Furious franchise, this series went from "what the fuck am I watching" to How do we get John Cena into one of these scenes? pretty damn quick. The tipping point involves Morgan Lee's last hurrah before someone convinced her to bootleg Lil Wayno songs. And no, you can't unsee that either.
Steamrolling into their first attempt at OnlyFans, or making some sort of biological statement? I can't confirm or deny either side, but the total lack of fucks given by half the guys behind the camera makes me think we have some eFukt regulars this time around. whattup?
She's having problems of the ovarian variety and it's about to fuck your day up. My defense? eFukt lacks videos for the female demographic. You already know where this is going.
After popping a molly (or 5) and getting fucked with a lawn chair, this girl realizes her dreams of being on worldstar are within grasp and totally goes for it. IMHO not worth the lifetime of shame without curly fries and roast beef.
You can brag about your male pattern baldness all you want homeboy. But if you're not turning all vaginas within a 3 mile distance into your own personal bowl of Hungry Jack Mashed Potatoes, are you even living the Costanza?
This dude ejaculates Grey Poupon. Straight up. It's the most bedazzling shit I've seen since that picture of Jesus appearing on a dog's asshole. Be sure to keep a towel handy in case you vomit and/or nut.
Never before have I seen men do something so disrespectful with such finesse. Where there's shame, they show confidence. Where there's shock, they bring warmth. And where there's romance, well... they really don't give a flying fuck.
Honestly can't say we've been exposed to this level of repulsive bullshit since the early days of the McRib sandwich. It's not the first time I've eaten bargain bin beef in a McDonald's parking lot, and it certainly won't be the last. I should probably call her.
Not exactly the most unexpected chain of events from a class of people that come less prepared for war than whoevers handicap stall I invaded at Waffle House last week. Sorry Wheels, but the bucket in the janitor's closet simply doesn't meet my capacity standard.
Another conga line of partially community college educated females being doused in homemade nut chutney: a.k.a. business as usual in the replies of every single thing on Twitter now. If they're looking for a new spokesgirl, I think we just found about 8 of them.
It truly never ends. Let's just label this one the Shawshank Redemption of "wtf, your load tastes like Alan Greenspan's deceased asshole" Alan probably isn't actually dead, but I trust that the implied mental image is still effective. Game on.
Essentially this is a public service announcement on the cons and cons of touring San Fransisco. Some will live to tell the tale. Others will merge with Skid Row through osmosis. But all will learn the defintion of of "Ordering the Portuguese Breakfast".
