At this point I'm just respecting the hustle of being able to sell sex without ever being penetrated in front of a camera. Truly a spectacle in it's own right that leaves you trapped between vigorous masturbation or making a donation to the Shia LaBeouf Community College for the Gifted. [PART I] [PART II] [PART III]
It's not even the fact that these fetishes exist. It's that some of these creaturas are banking a yearly salary after swimming through an Arby's dumpster for 3 minutes so Jungle Jack in Frogdick Mississippi can have beat off material for the week. We might not be in end times. But intermission was a long time ago.
Bittersweet painal, obscenity-filled orgasms, and a boob job predating the bicentennial. This ones got it all, and Ms. Big Ole Leathery Funbags earns some serious bonus points at the 2:35 mark.. Not even a fuckin rectal injury can dull her desire for ATM.
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.
Anastasia Rose becomes the next spokeswoman for Charmin Ultra Soft. Riley Reid reaches peak brain rot. Kenzie Reeves masters the art Yondu's arrow. And this "Gala MV" girl... well... there's no coming back for her. What the fuck?
What's life's greatest mystery? Aliens? why Lionsgate allows Tyler Perry to continue directing films? How about how the fuck this 46 year old poster boy for NAMBLA managed to pull a Russian model half his age, only to vow abstinence for half a fucking decade?
Meet Scott Taylor. Today Scott is a well respected porn mogul, but that wasn't always the case. Flashback to the glory years of 1985 and witness the Billy Mays of penis pump salesmen.
This is not a parody or some lame ass fan fiction LARPing weeb shit. This is actually GOONIES 3 (for me at least)... and it's the most wholesomely funny shit I have ever seen in amateur pornography.
Today's episode isn't about the money. It's about sending a message. Specifically to the derelicts that have used the Riemann hypothesis and Swinnerton-Dyer conjecture to justify paying for what you're about to see: Stop it. Get some help.
Classic cases of unbridled overconfidence. If only these creatures put as much effort into velcroing their crotches shut in public, as they did into experimenting with pain medications: Then maybe these permanent marks on their resumes could have been avoided. Yikes and gadzooks.
