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.
Bob is the type of dude that wears gas station sunglasses indoors and shouts "WOOOO" when excited. Bob has also finally gathered the $315 necessary to fulfill a life long fantasy of his, AKA "The Most Fail Interracial Porn In History".
Honestly, after making it to the end of this $27.00 budgeted shit show I'm inclined to believe the historical artifact should have stayed forgotten. The full version is over an hour long and makes The Blair Witch Project look like it's part of the Scorsese catalog. I do not recommend.
Half of these participants would be better suited in the clearance section of Craigslist forgotten /erotic section. The other half might match you on Tinder if you try hard enough. Choose your fate. More: [-1-] [-2-] [-3-] [-4-] [-5-]
You know what you get when you cast a guy that looks like he still gets the crust cut off his peanut butter and banana sandwiches? Believability mother fucker, that's what. Remove the Bangbros logo and scatter a few Star Wars Amibos in the background and I would have defended it's authenticity until the end of time.
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.
A heart warming moment when a pretty camgirl who happens to sound like MadTV's Stuart, drops jaw and flips her shit when she unexpectedly squirts for the first time in her life.
What is the last bodily fluid you want to see halfway into a twin-sister green beaning? If your answer has anything to do with Teavana's seasonal flavors - you're only halfway there. But points are on the board. #gag
You know you had fun when the next day you wake up with a concussion and realize you not only left your phone, but you also forgot your clothes, underwear, sunglasses and self-respect at the club.
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?
