I'm not even phased by empty-calorie diet plan Okinawa constantly subjects me to anymore. What really twists my biscuits is the lack of followup to these videos. idk what monster this T-Virus will turn them into, but we probably don't have enough ammo to kill them.
Kristina Bella becomes self-aware. Leya Falcon gives back to her community. Audrey Hempburn is currently on the run from Twitter And Veronica Leal... well, let's just say Ze Machine knows how to keep the romance going. You'll see.
You may cringe at the portable cock juicer. You might laugh at Big Foot committing a war crime. You will possibly Door Dash a 7 layer burrito bowl after seeing the sandworm at 0:45 second mark. But one thing's universal: We're all glad self-serving hasn't become a TikTok challenge. Yet.
The downside to treating your asshole as a source of income? Every time you get done colonizing the dark planet, somebody comes along and insists on outdoing you. I'm talking the kind of miscreant that would mount a Brontosaurus if it meant doubling her OnlyFans subs (4:25 mark). [DISCUSS HERE]
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.
If there's one thing that never fails to get me questioning the future of this whole human race experiment; it's what the most unassuming person will consider a sexual accessory. So here's about 6 of them. That's right, six. As in the number of times I replayed the noise that Pringles can made when ricocheting off her head.
A proud self-identified "throat goat" with self-destructive blowjob skills attempts total sexual suicide via co-stars penis. I like this bitch, she's fucking crazy.
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.
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.
There's something truly endearing about a girl that takes the Secret of the Ooze Super Shredder of BBCs, then double downs on being a stable human being. Her talents scream "3 more months of practice and my asshole will out-perform any South American footlocker".
If you thought we were going to make it through 3 volumes of woman decorating their reproductive systems with everything that isn't bolted down at Home Goods, and not get a single appearance by the only pornstar that could land a Dyson sponsorship; you thought wrong. And quite frankly, I'm a little disappointed. Also RIP Rowdy Piper.
