These stories have not been embellished, because - they need no embellishment. They are simply, horrifyingly, the story of the average degenerate human sharing space on this planet with you. Except that last one...It'd be more believable to call that woman a scientist, because the elements she's finding in there are undiscovered by man and Bill Nye.
Nothing says reinventing a franchise quite like admitting to the world that you have a fetish even the truckers of America aren't paying for in Walmart parking lots. Now give this so many views, The Rock won't be able to turn down being in the sequel.
Meet Luciana. aka Timea Bella. aka Indisputable Liar. She claims her stink whistle has less mileage on it than the Peloton in Ozzy Osbourne's basement, yet doesn't even call a timeout when Woody goes straight to the A. But when it comes time to sample some French vanilla, she calls it quits. Stay tuned for part 2 where I'll showcase her triumphant comeback.
If this year has taught me anything at all; it's that cabin fever has driven desperate people to the edge. Especially the ones that are no stranger to Walmart gift cards and live on streets that are named after presidents. 2022 is gonna be lit ya'll.
We got a pretty diverse group of fatherless degeneration this time around. Whether it's Discovery Channel's new poster girl at the 0:35 second mark, or the champ going for his 17th title at 4:20, you're guaranteed at least one reason to start day drinking again.
The 70's were a special time in history where no one gave a fuck. Smoking in hospitals, untamed pubes, sexually harassing midgets at the workplace, and faking a cum shot with a limp penis and shampoo? No problem. Nothing was sacred.
Started from the bottom, now we're here. And by here I mean vigorously being tested for sexually transmitted diseases because Dustin from the Target parking lot insisted on not using any form of protection during his big moment. More Blake Blossom here where she apparently streams on Twitch now?
Essentially this is a public service announcement on the cons and cons of touring San Fransisco. Some will live to tell the tale. Others will merge with Skid Row through osmosis. But all will learn the defintion of of "Ordering the Portuguese Breakfast".
Of all the ways to absolutely starch what's left of your testosterone, scarfing down Milli Vanilli's splash damage was the last fucking thing I had my bingus card. Watching a stranger crack your s/o's purple turkey just doesn't make sense to me. Then again, anytime someone makes middle aged women squeal like a 2 for 1 HomeGoods sale, eyebrows are raised.
Browse the catalogue of Day-1 pornstars long enough and you're sure to end up finding women that treat getting hit with a couple of snowballs is akin to being put in front of a North Korean firing squad. And today my friends, there is no exception. More here.
