I've always enjoyed the finer things in life, namely the Wendy's Cheddar Lover's Bacon cheeseburger, Cuba Gooding Jr. films and watching twats get used up like a Stretch Armstrong doll. Just watch.
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.
Another chapter closed in a book that Barnes & Noble insists on displaying in the Sci-Fi section. Normally read in the dimly lit corner of a trailer park that doesn't show up on Google maps, surrounded by Newports and half-eaten cans of Costco's finest meatball ravioli.
Skanky country girl and dopey get real nasty. Either she's on her period or she just can't handle it. Either way she's not bothered at all and licks the bloody snickers bar clean.
Everybody has a gift. For some, it's convincing solid 4's to double up on their bald headed field mice while simultaneously solving a sudoku. For others, it's knitting. But that last girl? Whoever is writing the next Final Destination movie better start taking some fucking notes.
If you think one Dutch girl's journey to turn her rectal cavity into affordable housing is where this type of content ends, you would be right. I wish you were right. And that last clip proves you should have been right. I recommend nothing you're about to witness.
It seems Allie Addison's apprehension levels are at zero, giving her little trouble with broski's maximum depth potential. And by little trouble, I mean the kind of potential organ rearrangement Art The Clown would be proud of.
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 five minute crash-course on how to squeeze every moment out of your favorite side piece, as illustrated by the shameless, the morally-deprived, and the defenders of all things Insane Clown Posse. It's priceless information really. Trust me on this one.
The lore actually goes deeper than you could have ever imagined. It's not about the volume of anonymous vagabond cocks. It's not about the money. It's about sending a [fucking] message.
Three years later and it seems [our boy] has ditched the mashed potatoes recipe and moved on to crafting a signature carne asada. ¿Felicidades mi amigo?
Every girl should know that a slippery fuck toy plus a cavernous butthole can equal a trip to the ER. Next time save yourself the embarrassing shuffle through the waiting room and tie a string to that mother fucker.
