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.
If you we're an emotionally messed up prostitute, I'm sure you would fucking hate talking about your life too. But would you hate it more then sucking the dick of a self-titled "crack whore connoisseur"? More crazy in the source link.
♫ I got a pocket, got a pocketful of sunshine ♫ I got a love and I know that it's all mine, oh, oh-oh ♫ Do what you want but you're never gonna break me ♫ Sticks and stones are never gonna shake me, oh, oh-oh
It's always rough times for busted drug addicted cum dumpsters. Learn what it really takes to become a professional sexual punching bag for the below average Joe willing to risk STD's for cheap sex.
Turns out fertilizing your own family tree isn't the only extra curricular activity people practice in Frogballs, Arkansas. Just don't be misled by The Rat King's lack of hygiene; Your respect for the modern day alpha male begins here and now.
I can't imagine what life decisions lead to your obituary being littered with the words "twerking" and "public nuisance" and "30,000 volts". But I'm betting it involves the neighbor's parakeet, and all 16 delicious flavors of Rice-a-Roni. (fuck you Rice Pilaf)
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.
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.
A socially inept goober gets a job getting jerked off by a hottie and manages to fuck it up, dashing his dreams of porn stardom in the process. It's like the movie Rudy, if Rudy was thrown out the game before ever playing and never scored.
The lore actually goes deeper than you could have ever imagined. It's not about the volume of anonymous vagabond cocks. It's not about the money. It's about sending a [fucking] message.
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.
Discounted Rice-a-Roni, a Dwayne Johnson body massage and joining a Chick-fil-A protest: All things I'd willingly commit to before slapping a ring on Jasmine Bryne. Pay attention boys and remember: One day it could be half of YOUR Amiibo collection.
