You can brag about your male pattern baldness all you want homeboy. But if you're not turning all vaginas within a 3 mile distance into your own personal bowl of Hungry Jack Mashed Potatoes, are you even living the Costanza?
Round #2 in a series that showcases the authentic side of some of our most interesting citizens. I'm not exactly sure what life choices have to be made to end up here, but it probably has something to do with blue checkmarks and whatever they put in those Impossible burgers.
I gotta say; supreme vag on the redhead. Haven't seen a pair of lips that impressive since the time I got caught with a VHS rip of Fast Times at Ridgemont High and the last jar of Smuckers Sweet Orange Marmalade. Mother's Day hasn't been the same since.
So this is what happens when Chaturbate gets saturated with day-ones and you have to find creative ways to scalp juicer tokens. All because a rickshaw driver from Tanzania can't stop maxing out his data plan so he can tell azngirl8537 to "show anal and borbs".
Not really surprising from a girl that calls herself Wisconsin Tiff, but the alternative medicine excuse for this behavior immediately goes out the window. Can't even blame the moon lettuce and it's sibling psychedelics for this digital footprint.
Don't let the confidence in her voice fool you: This cholita's ability to withstand pain is about as real as her soggy pancakes in a pushup bra. As illustrated by his first, second and 17th attempt to keep a decent rhythm in her poo canoe. The end result? Well... you'll see.
Kinda off topic, but 8 hrs ago it seemed like a good idea to eat 64 slices of American Cheese and wash it down with a bottle of gin. Then someone had the gall to say Have a good morning to me. Listen mom, unless you have a sewing kit and extensive knowledge of battle wounds, your request is permanently denied.
Some women require foreplay to get off. Others, Little Caesars 5 for $5.00. And then there's Jessica Carrboro aka The Crotch Vampire, who takes no less than a scoop of organic strawberry swirl to get moist. I say this with complete sincerity: You're not ready for her.
It may not be explicitly written in the rule book, but there's only one translation for the body language on the girl going Milli Vanilli on herself. And it exists somewhere in between "Car Batteries Are Not Sex Toys" and "Oops My Asshole Fell Out".
Congratulations to the golden glove duo working that dude's bag like a 19th century gandy dancer (look it up). Homie may have survived all 9 rounds, but he'll never be able to eat applesauce without a war zone flashback ever again.
