Some of you may be asking the question: "How the hell did it take you so long to get something together for [Hannah Hays]? The fuckin story writes itself.". Honestly... it's overwhelming. Her rabbit hole seems to have more alternate endings than Baldur’s Gate 3.
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.
The amazing thing? Multiple people thought these were good ideas and put a whole lot of effort into them. I.E. the guy who had to cut a dick hole in a giant Wheaties box or the man controlling the giant octopus dildo tentacles.
Pretty much a public service announcement on the importance of knowing your limits before inking a deal. Some live to tell the tale. Others, are memed for life. But all have an abnormally intimate relationship with Newport cigarettes and Klonopin before the age of 25.
You don't have to be a full blown beta to experience this level of salami sloshing. Just find a girl that's sexually attracted to Amibos & the lifetime bans from all major entertainment venues will flow in faster than you can complain about them on Twitter. We may be at the point where the rise of this fetish needs clinical studying.
Another edition featuring triflin' ass hoes, hood rats of all kinds and a singing crack head with erectile problems. They call him Uncle Jim and he can do any unskilled miscellaneous task for the low-low.
Kinda want to emphasize those gravity bags reaching maximum velocity around the 5:00 minute mark. Jell-o has spent over 100 years trying to market physics like this and have failed miserably in comparison. Turns out all you need is a 1-bedroom apartment in Latvia and a c-section scar to make math fun again.
For a minute there I was starting to lose faith in degenerate white guy's ability to keep me entertained. Then I was introduced to a fetish with more questions than Sylvester Stallone's medicine cabinet.
Imagine making it to the last clip of this degenerate fever dream and still thinking everything's gonna be alright. We are six (or seven) kinds of fucked if this conduct continues. James Sunderland sends his regards. More of Scene 1 [HERE].
Playstation One-levels of animation and someones first experience with Windows Movie Maker goes horribly... right? In other words, I only ejaculated twice. And that's coming from a man whos seen Sarah Silverman naked. My voice matters.
You clicked the original one so many damn times, I had to dive deeper into her discography. Unfortunately it turns out all her roads lead to this evolutionary cul-de-sac using her as the only form of exercise he's seen since Jock Jams was a thing. Don't look that up. [-PART I-]
