For fuck sakes, there's only 2 things capable of further emasculating a man that is fantasy-banging his meth head relative. One is knowing you stuck your dick into a family classic, the other is whatever the shit is going on here.
2002-2004. An era of professionally produced pornography that should probably be forgotten. Not a single penetration was made, yet I feel like I've been fucked by spare tires and empty cans of Busch Light after sitting through this atrocity. The line dropped at 2:30 really makes you wonder how many Marlboro Miles these guy were paid for the scene.
Dude looks like he walked into a tattoo parlor and said "yes". Luckily he's hung like a brontosaurus to round out these constructive life decisions. Not sure I was expecting that twist at the end though. Kinda reinforcing the whole don't judge a book by it's cover thing, aren't we?
He came packing a mullet, social-awkwardness and the body type/skin tone of a marsh mellow with prescription glasses. But that day back in 1998, he was a hero for 10 minutes at a gentleman's club in Arkansas.
To fully appreciate this, first watch [Part 1] + [Part 2]. This guy isn't just any mope. This is Corn - the likely autistic, positively virgin pornstar that partook in 114 bukkake shoots, 113 of which the beneficary of his cumshot was a cement wall. Starting to understand the significance of the title?
A decade's worth of restrained self-owning content? It happened. From the archives of bang bus'ing to the 360p days of MFC and everything in between; This is the nonsense they wanted shelved until the end of time.
If attempting to monetize your most private confessions is any sign of a recession, I'd say we're at the tip of an iceberg that would make the dotcom bubble look like like an afterthought. I'll be expecting a lot more of this until Jim Cramer capitulates.
A truly beautiful ballad about a girl that makes pterodactyl sex noises and a man that pulls off one of the most amazing sexual achievements ever filmed. I think we all wish we had a little Jimmy in us.
That feeling when you realize a backdoor studio in Japan with a $300 makeup budget is closer to the source material of the Resident Evil games than any official movie and whatever the fuck crawled out of Netflix headquarters put together. 2 thumbs up, would Jill off into my sandwich again.
