Essentially this is a public service announcement on the cons and cons of touring San Fransisco. Some will live to tell the tale. Others will merge with Skid Row through osmosis. But all will learn the defintion of of "Ordering the Portuguese Breakfast".
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?
Three years later and it seems [-our boy-] has ditched the mashed potatoes recipe and moved on to crafting a signature carne asada. ¿Felicidades mi amigo?
It's kinda refreshing to know the cam-clam game has stayed relevant amongst the rise of OnlyFans popularity. Never forget the O.G. sex workers that paved the way via 56k modem bitrate and school libraries. Now let's go ahead and get these ladies under contract for the next Ghostbusters reboot. I smell Oscars.
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.
Nothing here but people willing to be treated like the bed liner of Ford F-150 with 8 digits on the clock. Some even goes as far as to request moar dick. Complimentary forewarning: Any further into those monkey biscuits & this will technically be classified as a medical procedure.
Classic cases of unbridled overconfidence. If only these creatures put as much effort into velcroing their crotches shut in public, as they did into experimenting with pain medications: Then maybe these permanent marks on their resumes could have been avoided. Yikes and gadzooks.
I feel like this has some deeper meaning than a porn parody of the exorcist. I just awed at it like it was a Salvador Dali painting or some shit, trying to figure out how my existence had brought me to this point.
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.
What happens when you try to clone Mike Tyson, but the machine takes the eggplant emoji seriously? Sorry, but that specimen needs to be noted here. Was it's purpose to inflict maximum damage, or an aerodynamic choice to reach a new velocity?
