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.
Watching [girls like this] bait the socially inept into a monthly subscription reminds me of a black widow documentary I once accidentally watched for 2 hours. All that's missing is David Attenboroughs voice and an invigorating supply of Cialis.
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.
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".
Not really surprising from a girl that calls herself Wisconsin Tiff, but the alternative medicine excuse for this behavior immediately goes out the window. Can't even blame the moon lettuce and it's sibling psychedelics for this digital footprint.
I gotta say; supreme vag on the redhead. Haven't seen a pair of lips that impressive since the time I got caught with a VHS rip of Fast Times at Ridgemont High and the last jar of Smuckers Sweet Orange Marmalade. Mother's Day hasn't been the same since.
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?
eFukt got some exclusive pre-photoshop Kim K vagoo sent in from the make up artist on her recent magazine shoot, and even though I don't usually post stuff like this, I figured fuck it... I give you Kim Kardashians vagina.
Some "feels" I am glad I will never experience in life. Driving the speed limit, menstrual cramps, bamboo fingernail torture, or when a unlubed and unwelcome penis randomly kicks open the door to the house of pain.
Listen: If you delinquents keep spamming your entire loadouts before the first checkpoint is captured, I'm gonna have to turn this into an official series. That kind of uncontrollable pressure reminds me of a romantic moment involving myself, a $20.00 bill and the McRib. Let's just say mom's Plymouth Vista got a new interior paint job that night. [PART I] [PART II]
