Remember the frigid chick that randomly started sobbing in the middle of a Rocco shoot? It was actually pretty touching, to both my heart & my penis. But apparently that encounter was only chapter 1 in a saga of piss-poor decisions.
Not only did this happen live, but she nailed the mythic trifecta: Dry-docked a Russian without a gun to her head, hit the sour cream & onion griddy & did it all with her BF 20 feet away. It's not every day we find girls worthy of an all-expenses paid trip to Red Robin... but she's here.
I like her face. I like her enthusiasm. But above all I like her devotion to commitment. Her borderline absent reaction to an explosive device detonating inside her spincther however, has reinforced my stance on late-term abortions. Like, 35 years late. Toss a token in the abyss via the source link.
I don't know why anyone would post such things of themselves onto such a terrible place as the internet, but whatever! Come ride the shit train with me on a journey into the awful side of amateur pornography.
You clicked the original one so many damn times, I had to dive deeper into her discography. Unfortunately it turns out all her roads lead to this evolutionary cul-de-sac using her as the only form of exercise he's seen since Jock Jams was a thing. Don't look that up. [-PART I-]
Imagine reaching a point in your life where fantasies just aren't doing it for you anymore, so you unleash an even deeper mental illness and create some sort of hybrid, cabbage patch fuck dance home videos and think not hiding your identity is a good idea. This is that point.
Every girl should know that a slippery fuck toy plus a cavernous butthole can equal a trip to the ER. Next time save yourself the embarrassing shuffle through the waiting room and tie a string to that mother fucker.
Another quarter, another gaggle of beatniks that are one step closer to finding a way to fit more military equipment in their gravy cave than an aircraft carrier. Emphasis on the mini gorlock seen around the 5:45 mark. You'll never look at cave diving the same again.
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.
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.
The reality of having less musical talent than an asthmatic hedgehog must have hit her like a sac of 90's PSA videos and she needed clout, badly. How can life get any worse you ask? Well... I'll let searches for "how do you stitch a butthole" answer that.
