I've sat through 8 billion brother fucker storylines, the desecration of an icon and whatever the fuck this is. That being said, it's comforting to know I can still find astonishment in the super weeb fever dream you're about to witness. Good luck.
2002-2004. An era of professionally produced pornography that should probably be forgotten. Not a single penetration was made, yet I feel like I've been fucked by spare tires and empty cans of Busch Light after sitting through this atrocity. The line dropped at 2:30 really makes you wonder how many Marlboro Miles these guy were paid for the scene.
Show me a woman that puts this much emotion into her goose hole jabberwocky, and I'll show you the kind of 90-Day Fiance episodes actually worth watching. Now somebody knock down a retaining wall so big Ed can get his neck through the door, and lets start the sequel.
Imagine making it to the last clip of this degenerate fever dream and still thinking everything's gonna be alright. We are six (or seven) kinds of fucked if this conduct continues. James Sunderland sends his regards. More of Scene 1 [HERE].
No, seriously don't. Every once in a while pornography life overlaps into real life lessons. Let's just be glad this learning experience was made possible without the assistance of Czechoslovakian accents, and a petting zoo.
Let me formally introduce you to GM. aka Grandpa Merrick. aka Wrinkle Rocker. aka Mr. Steal Yo Girl. Rather than live out his twilight years chasing dusty jellyfish, he wakes up every day and chooses violence. And intravenous Cialis.
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.
Leaking classified information? Mumbling incoherent rants about setting third world countries on fire? Shit, even International Dick Cricket Infestation would have appeared on my list sooner than 1 Tinder gremlin subjecting herself to 31 separate 8-man gangbangs in the fucking barracks. Yet... here we are.
Nothing here but people willing to be treated like the bed liner of Ford F-150 with 8 digits on the clock. Some even goes as far as to request moar dick. Complimentary forewarning: Any further into those monkey biscuits & this will technically be classified as a medical procedure.
It may not be explicitly written in the rule book, but there's only one translation for the body language on the girl going Milli Vanilli on herself. And it exists somewhere in between "Car Batteries Are Not Sex Toys" and "Oops My Asshole Fell Out".
