Here’s another horrifying example of simp culture; The pussification of the hopeless male in the form of extracurricular CBT. What the fuck is going on here? Ogling strange women at the tune of a months worth of paychecks used to be a respectable form of entertainment. Now? Its just another girl boss moment.
We aren't talking about your traditional hole-to-hole, human centipede sausage link simultaneous penetration here. But someone ramming their jelly bean into you immediately after pulling it out of a sibling is just as reprehensible, so it still counts. I've been appointed to the head of this committee and those are the rules I've outlined.
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.
See? Not every post here has to be about unsuitable bodily penetrations and the Montana residents that love them. Sometimes you gotta slow down and appreciate women that would charge $99.99 to drop ship you their fart jars. Ask me how I know.
Don't let the half-assed attempt at blurring out Jackin' Jerry's face fool you; The situation may very well be authentic. Such as illustrated by our power couple having more will to finish the story than Cody Rhodes. English translation possibly done by David Lynch.
Maybe you've already seen the clip at 2:00. It seems to have spread across the Internet faster than gonorrhea during Burning Man weekend. But the rest is definitely worth a spot amongst your 36 hour doom scroll. More public shame[ing] [here]
Some women that happen to look like rejected "Lord of the Rings" characters find themselves in a cheap hotel room, making a porn movie so atrocious that even the producer wouldn't show up to film it.
We got a pretty diverse group of fatherless degeneration this time around. Whether it's Discovery Channel's new poster girl at the 0:35 second mark, or the champ going for his 17th title at 4:20, you're guaranteed at least one reason to start day drinking again.
I've sat through 8 billion brother fucker storylines, the desecration of an icon and whatever the fuck this is. That being said, it's comforting to know I can still find astonishment in the super weeb fever dream you're about to witness. Good luck.
The more inbreeding in your bloodline, the further you'll go to seek sexual satisfaction. A simple concept, officially reinforced by whatever director's cut episode of Survivor Man is going on in that last clip. I'll put it this way; in comparison it makes Jeppson's Malort seem like a fucking delicacy. It's that abhorrent.
A rousing assembly of women that don't believe teh night is over until their clout levels have reached unmeasurable proportions. Reminiscent of a reoccurring dream I keep having involving Brock Lesnar and Long John Silver’s Cocktail Sauce.
