The time has come for the followup of a story that will be told in the Internet history books. So strap in and prepare to have your yamaka blown the fuck off, cause we're going on a trip that involves domestic abuse, race rage white supremacy and about 937 reasons not to get married. [Part 1]
Interracial doll play, stickam webcam bitrates and public humiliation at a Pepboys garage. No, it's not the secret combination to unlock 2022. It's round #5 in the OF saga, because... there's no fucking lack of women baiting the socially inept into monthly subscriptions. PARTS: [1] [2] [3] [4]
What's mine is yours. And what's yours makes her think walking away from that 4-year degree in Anthropological Gender Studies of Amazonian Tree Frogs to do this instead was a bad idea.
Were you also gifted the sexual prowess of a polar bear on methamphetamines at birth? Well that only leaves 1 path for you to take in life. So if you share this lady's disposition, consider alternatives to Tinder. I'm thinking Farmersonly, without the farmers. Feel me?
Seldom do I say it but this girl is a cunt hair away from being worthy of a Black Angus prix fixe dinner on my dime. Unfortunately though, she has a clitoris like Adrian Brody has a nose.
I don't think that title and/or thumb truly convey the crossover that's about to happen here. But if it costs $50,000 to get an 8 pack of Oscar Mayer's uncured wieners into a female's dung funnel, then life is no longer worth living. Inflation did this.
Another quarter, another gaggle of beatniks that are one step closer to finding a way to fit more military equipment in their gravy cave than an aircraft carrier. Emphasis on the mini gorlock seen around the 5:45 mark. You'll never look at cave diving the same again.
Looks like someone crossbred Rosario Dawson with a howler monkey and gave it rabies. But this isn't for the lulz... more about awareness. You honestly don't even need video for this. The soundtrack alone is enough to keep my Bugle Boy cut-offs on the rinse cycle.
You know that feeling: When it's 0600 hours, the sun is shining, and you find yourself 4-inches deep inside the only girl that believed your story about using the same plumber as Zac Efron. In other words: Perfection. That is, unless Lucya "The Wolverine" Chernyshevsky is leader of the neighborhood watch.
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.
