This self-titled pimp from Arkansas goes by "Mrlongstroke2015" and today he has invited two ratchets over for a threesome show. One problem: the girls just beat him up.
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.
Door Dash driver allegedly gets bait and switched with the soul sucking knob job of the century. She says there will be no apologies. He can't be contacted for further statements. Uh huh, I know where this is going; Plan for tomorrow, buy Depends today.
Much like the Fast and Furious franchise, this series went from "what the fuck am I watching" to How do we get John Cena into one of these scenes? pretty damn quick. The tipping point involves Morgan Lee's last hurrah before someone convinced her to bootleg Lil Wayno songs. And no, you can't unsee that either.
[she] claims her oldest body is somewhere in between "i trade crypto while working at Walmart" and "the first signs of adult onset diabetes" age range. But today that ceiling is getting mashed. Because our boy toothless wouldn't be able to eat them any other way.
Honestly can't say we've been exposed to this level of repulsive bullshit since the early days of the McRib sandwich. It's not the first time I've eaten bargain bin beef in a McDonald's parking lot, and it certainly won't be the last. I should probably call her.
He came packing a mullet, social-awkwardness and the bodytype/skintone of a marsh mellow with prescription glasses. But that day back in 1998, he was a God for 10 minutes at a gentleman's club in Arkansas.
If the first chick doesn't have the look of a girl that's admitted to losing her virginity to a mailbox, I don't know what is. A moment that was probably about as unintentional as me using Cowabunga Bay Water's wave pool as my own personal porta potty. Apologies to visitors between years of 1998 - 2013.
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?
Every so often I come across an individual that makes me ask: How much tarantula fucking middle aged misguided trailer park moonshine did they drink before this became a good idea? It's like someone took Rosie O'Donnell and made it harder to see her naked.
Skig tag? Tumor? Krang from TMNT? Fuck if I know, but whatever it is... it totally rubbed up against the other dudes thigh at the 1.38 mark, causing a half chewed Bagel Bite to be ejected from my mouth and on to my Where's Waldo themed keyboard.
