For a minute there I was starting to lose faith in degenerate white guy's ability to keep me entertained. Then I was introduced to a fetish with more questions than Sylvester Stallone's medicine cabinet.
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.
One half of MTV's greatest creation hits the fucking SIMP jackpot. She's Cameron Canela and before her IMDB sported titles like Don't Break Me Volume 6 and Republican Candidate Wife Swap she was handing out freebies to genetics most unfortunate specimens.
Mobilized midgets, successfully executed autocunnilngus and the recreation of a sexual maneuver that put Okinawa on the map. It's safe to say this hodgepodge of misfits is more well rounded than a Golden Corral dinner special. Want more? PARTS: [-1-] [-2-] [-3-] [-4-]
Bittersweet painal, obscenity-filled orgasms, and a boob job predating the bicentennial. This ones got it all, and Ms. Big Ole Leathery Funbags earns some serious bonus points at the 2:35 mark.. Not even a fuckin rectal injury can dull her desire for ATM.
There's people that skirt along the edge of "normal". Then there's Carrot Top. And finally there's unfixable misfits like the 10 or so specimens you're about to witness on the other side of this click. For our non-American viewers: This is why Valium exists. [more]
This is actually a pretty accurate title, so brace your dicks 'cause you are about to meet a one hundred and ten pound girl with a fuck hole like a wind tunnel.
Time to get acquainted with another horde of beatniks that have managed to monetize the kind of performances that once only existed behind the locked doors of a Berlin basement. Big points for that Mitzuwana breakdancing at the 6:12 mark though. Should have taken home Paris gold. More: [-1-] [-2-] [-3-] [-4-] [-5-] [-6-] [-7-] [-8-] [-9-]
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.
