This one's a crowd pleaser. Not only get to see a massive-titted pornstar unwittingly suck a shit covered wang ... but you also to get hear three seconds of my real voice. Boner inducement on all fronts.
Classic case of overconfidence. If only he put as much effort into his hygiene as she did into Walmart bathrooms she choose to get tattooed in, then maybe this permanent mark on his resume could have been avoided. Live, learn and always wipe twice.
Nevermind the fact that she talks like a slightly upgraded version of Stan's sister. What I really want to know is where this current trend of bodily fluids being used as a sole protein source started from. And I want to know now.
Consider this an open letter to the content creators out there: I will donate the $13.75 I made trading Krypto Kittys with down syndrome to a charity of your choosing, in exchange for promising to never use condiments on your wiener ever again. The balls are in your courts.
At first I thought the same as you; What Tim Burton movie did Ice Spice crawl ass backwards out of? Immediately followed by wondering why Sofa "diapers at 23" Weber would subject her own flesh and blood to the [first] dirty donut bulldozing we saw. Evolution is a mystery.
If any of you ever want to launch one of those "Top 10 Ways to Make a Girl Break up With You" kind of blogs, make sure some of these specimens are on the list. Somewhere in between Fortnite themed flip flops, and listening to Ed Sheeran.
2002-2004. An era of professionally produced pornography that should probably be forgotten. Not a single penetration was made, yet I feel like I've been fucked by spare tires and empty cans of Busch Light after sitting through this atrocity. The line dropped at 2:30 really makes you wonder how many Marlboro Miles these guy were paid for the scene.
What happens when you let your BBC-obsessed husband talk you into the kind of Smackdown WWE would be jealous of? Here's a hint: You end up booking a legendary Iron Man match, but there's no winner.
Not really surprising from a girl that calls herself Wisconsin Tiff, but the alternative medicine excuse for this behavior immediately goes out the window. Can't even blame the moon lettuce and it's sibling psychedelics for this digital footprint.
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.
