It's like the girl with the super hip mom that totally supports her daughter getting ring-blasted by guys named after sports cars got a pep talk and couldn't wait to bring it on the grid iron. Then gets jobbed out like the 2008 Detroit Lions. A Karen of the Kum world if you will. TY for listening to my cunTED talk.
This is all but guaranteed to eradicate any story you may have been led to believe about how hard it is to interact with an established pornstar. Now the countdown begins until the protein-maxing gym bros discover this one simple trick.
I guess this is what happens when your Netflix and Chill night turns into a solo adventure and you start organizing the "Foreign Girls That Like WuTang" sub-folder in your NUT directory. I don't know, I see more reasons you shouldn't cornhole wild life thanks to her constant deer-in-headlights reaction than I do sitcom legends. Thoughts?
A rousing assembly of women that don't believe teh night is over until their clout levels have reached unmeasurable proportions. Reminiscent of a reoccurring dream I keep having involving Brock Lesnar and Long John Silver’s Cocktail Sauce.
Of all the story lines you could choose, expedited shipping would be last on my fucking list. Then again, so is paying autistic girls in gift cards to round out your threesome so maybe I don't see the vision. Perhaps decades of inbreeding and limiting toothbrush ownership to 1 per home has carved itself into a niche I can only describe as: Inflation-Friendly Walmart Porn.
Looks like someone crossbred Rosario Dawson with a howler monkey and gave it rabies. But this isn't for the lulz... more about awareness. You honestly don't even need video for this. The soundtrack alone is enough to keep my Bugle Boy cut-offs on the rinse cycle.
Don't let the Twitch staff wardrobe and lack of muscle fiber fool you: This army of limp-wristed, mouth-breathing fun-seekers have reached their breaking point and shit just hit the fan water-cooled RTX 3080. Consider this a warning to all women that can fit in a rowboat.
To call this girl a boring bang would be the understatement of the damn millennium. I'll put it this way: If you combined a gender studies course with the PGA, you'd still need a 3 hour Al Gore audio book and jumper cables to match pulses with this fucking corpse. You've been warned.
