Here it is; A collection of bros that last about as long as I do during a Marvel film released after End Game. Normally these misfits would be thrown into the compost pile and forgotten, but these speedruns need to be seen to be believed.
I was gonna tag one girl as "Funky Town" to see how many newcomers Google themselves right off the Internet, but I choose a more honorably path. So what did we end up learning today? Sharp objects and SNES soundtracks work extremely well together. That's what. Support cyclo-boob [HERE]
What happens when you try to clone Mike Tyson, but the machine takes the eggplant emoji seriously? Sorry, but that specimen needs to be noted here. Was it's purpose to inflict maximum damage, or an aerodynamic choice to reach a new velocity?
It's only 10 minutes into the all night sex party and this douche is about to bust his nut after a 30 second blowjob. Not wanting to end the night early, he awkwardly death grips his penis attempting to cease climax.
No, seriously don't. Every once in a while pornography life overlaps into real life lessons. Let's just be glad this learning experience was made possible without the assistance of Czechoslovakian accents, and a petting zoo.
Listen: If you delinquents keep spamming your entire loadouts before the first checkpoint is captured, I'm gonna have to turn this into an official series. That kind of uncontrollable pressure reminds me of a romantic moment involving myself, a $20.00 bill and the McRib. Let's just say mom's Plymouth Vista got a new interior paint job that night. [PART I] [PART II]
Breaking traditional workout regimes, NASA-sponsored ejaculations and Skynet inching ever closer to harvesting our organs through the channel of A.I. powered sex transformers. If the next 8 minutes doesn't shine a more positive light on your life, nothing will. I'm here to help.
For fuck sakes, these dorks could've thrown a dart at any billboard in Las Vegas and found better ideas to attach to their bodies permanently. I haven't seen people this far out of their comfort zones since the launch of Burger King's ultimate breakfast platter.
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.
Nothing here but people willing to be treated like the bed liner of Ford F-150 with 8 digits on the clock. Some even goes as far as to request moar dick. Complimentary forewarning: Any further into those monkey biscuits & this will technically be classified as a medical procedure.
