Shane Diesel the type that gotta stand when he poops or his dick floats in the water. His dick so big he can't even go balls deep on these professional cock smugglers without causing serious internal injuries.
[what you know]: Anyone that's had a TV on after 1:00AM between the years 1997 and 2003 are still trying to get this fucking theme song out of their heads. [what you don't know]: Doug "hobgoblin" Stanhope had the approachability of post-nut clarity Clint Howard. I demand a reboot.
I was gonna tag one girl as "Funky Town" to see how many newcomers Google themselves right off the Internet, but I choose a more honorably path. So what did we end up learning today? Sharp objects and SNES soundtracks work extremely well together. That's what. Support cyclo-boob [HERE]
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.
Symptom #67 that you've graduated from pornstar to full blown drama queen: 3 pumps from Manuel Ferrara's ham hog makes her tap out faster than the Frank Shamrock/Kevin Jackson fight (look it up). Like my reaction after hearing Oprah Winfrey wants to run for president, you can literally see fear in her eyes.
There's just no hiding from your past once you pull the trigger on something like this. Their Ross Store wardrobes will be forever stained. The regret can't be washed off. And the $27 paycheck isn't enough to drink the memories away. #crankthattherapist
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.
So, this is the new standard for getting attention? Terrorizing unsuspecting civilians with your prescription flavored genitals and "oopsy'ing" ur way through milk toast sexual acts? Points for the self-awareness though. It adds a little depth to my upcoming biography aptly named: Sex, Drugs & Brain Damage
Girls this determined to finish are hard to find without an Olympian background, so consider yourself lucky. Both for getting to bear witness to this unstoppable force, and for not having to be the one to explain the beef bourguignon shit stains on mom's new comforter.
The amazing thing? Multiple people thought these were good ideas and put a whole lot of effort into them. I.E. the guy who had to cut a dick hole in a giant Wheaties box or the man controlling the giant octopus dildo tentacles.
Sorry to all competing rookies out there trying to cover the Vagisil bill: This is the type of content you need to be producing now. Those glory days of not acting like somebody hooked a lawn mower battery to your fallopian tubes to get attention are over. Devon... get the Flex Tape.
