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.
Irrationally sized flobberweavels, a urethra that's suffered more abuse than whoever the fuck bought Barstool for $500 mil and the recreation of a classic in glorious high(er) definition. Don't think of this as the balanced breakfast you need, think of it as the one you deserve.
An aryan idol sexually trolls the hotel bell hop in order to win a "contest" that may or may not even exist. Regardless, Michael Cera is here to help. Although I'm not entirely convinced he's ever done this before.
My first pay-to-play happened in a Burger King toilet stall. She was more Kurt Perry than Katy Perry, Kinda foul. Not even a triple replay of Heather Graham's bush in Boogie Nights changed the mood that night. But... if I had this guy's attitude? Life... life would be different.
First-timer foolishly assumes her debut appearance is going to be a walk in the park. Emphases on the word walk, because it looks like all her future tours of Italy at Olive Garden are going to be wheelchair accessible from this point forward. What in the fuck...
Local vagrant takes us on a journey that blurs the line between southern cooking and female independence, as illustrated by a sex act that's led to more infections than a Marilyn Manson concert. Never before has adult entertainment made me prouder of my KFC rewards points.
Some see this director as romantic and passionate, others see his films as pure degrading and exploitative smut. IDK personally, but watching him shoot a screaming jizz wad into her esophagus is pretty neat.
If anything at all, you should be digging the distance some people will go just for the sake of being different. That's what porn is really missing: A relatable leading actress that's been kicked out of a WWE catering truck. Twice.
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.
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.
