Enter the strange world of MyFreeCams. Where internet prostitutes webcam models do weird shit for cyber money, like sexually teasing the local pizza delivery guy. What could go wrong?
Today's episode isn't about the money. It's about sending a message. Specifically to the derelicts that have used the Riemann hypothesis and Swinnerton-Dyer conjecture to justify paying for what you're about to see: Stop it. Get some help.
For these ground breaking philanthropists, it's about destroying societal norms. Climb that mountain and nothing shall come between your communal oral cavity and legendary status. Save for a viral outbreak or four.
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.
Today's visuals couldn't get better if you slammed an Ambien cocktail and hit the boardwalk wearing nothing but a smile and Walmart's finest body spray. Speaking of New Jersey, not even [-carl-] himself would be caught $7 dollars deep in whatever spawned in the last clip.
Nothing gets an appointment with the clinic booked faster than going skin on skin with east Asia's most notorious time bender. So here's 4 minutes worth. That's right, four. As in the number of Abreva pills she'll need to take per day for the rest of her life after becoming a victim to Venkman's ectoplasm.
Pug-faced Hispanic drinks herself so numb she doesn't even notice when last night's chimichanga is hanging halfway out her asshole. Her laugh is as bad as her hygiene. Sounds like something Steven Urkel would emit while making love to the dude from Wonder Years. Watch this one all the way through.
