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].
free tip: Don't be fooled by the "i collect exotic toothpastes and I'm saving my g-spot for Sonic the Hedgehog" appearance. She may appear to be innocent, but this is no sex noob. Despite leaking more soft serve than a birthday party at Carvel, she actually did finish the scene.
You know you're in some sort of bat shit crazy porn renaissance when Japan comes in last on the list of things you shouldn't masturbate to. Between the Tijuana down syndrome family plan and whatever the fuck Insane Clown Posse is doing at 1:45, idk if I should cum or cry.
Honestly, I'm shocked. And by shocked I mean quietly contemplating how much longer it will take social media to completely remove all empathetic reasoning from the human genome. Direct all body fluids accordingly. More [here]
Remember the frigid chick that randomly started sobbing in the middle of a Rocco shoot? It was actually pretty touching, to both my heart & my penis. But apparently that encounter was only chapter 1 in a saga of piss-poor decisions.
There's people that skirt along the edge of "normal". Then there's Carrot Top. And finally there's unfixable misfits like the 10 or so specimens you're about to witness on the other side of this click. For our non-American viewers: This is why Valium exists. [more]
This self-titled pimp from Arkansas goes by "Mrlongstroke2015" and today he has invited two ratchets over for a threesome show. One problem: the girls just beat him up.
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.
idk what exit strategy the mutant in the last clip is planning on, but this shit doesn't work for me brother. Seriously it's over for you and any unsuspecting Amish person you hire to tailor-make a pair of Fruit of The Looms wide enough to hide that monstrosity from the world.
So, who's really to blame here? The horse farm that secured their perimeter to keep her away from the livestock, or the guy with 4 Q's in his name that's keeping her on a 1-token drip for the past 4 hours?
Every so often I come across an individual that makes me ask: How much tarantula fucking middle aged misguided trailer park moonshine did they drink before this became a good idea? It's like someone took Rosie O'Donnell and made it harder to see her naked.
