You can brag about your triple digit IQ all you want bruh. If you're not using it to turn your asshole into a bowl of Bob Evans Mashed Potatoes it's about as useful as a hot shower is to this classic r-word.
Classic case of overconfidence. If only he put as much effort into his hygiene as she did into Walmart bathrooms she choose to get tattooed in, then maybe this permanent mark on his resume could have been avoided. Live, learn and always wipe twice.
Meet the man whose penis looks more like a belly button with testicles. The man who gives credence to the old adage of "it's just cold outside", in response to why ones cock would be smaller than a vienna sausage.
Farted on, finger banged, told he looks like fuckin Robin Williams - this dude endures pain you can't even imagine. Fortunately he's a Sum 41 mosh pit survivor and holds a blackbelt in making Terminator-esque sound effects whilst flailing his arms like a fucking idiot, so it's all good.
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?
If you ever pondered what a Japanese version of Daria Morgendorffer would look like amidst an adult motion picture then this is for you. For the rest of us civilized individuals, we will only be watching for educational purposes.
Three years later and it seems [our boy] has ditched the mashed potatoes recipe and moved on to crafting a signature carne asada. ¿Felicidades mi amigo?
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]
The more inbreeding in your bloodline, the further you'll go to seek sexual satisfaction. A simple concept, officially reinforced by whatever director's cut episode of Survivor Man is going on in that last clip. I'll put it this way; in comparison it makes Jeppson's Malort seem like a fucking delicacy. It's that abhorrent.
See? Not every post here has to be about unsuitable bodily penetrations and the Montana residents that love them. Sometimes you gotta slow down and appreciate women that would charge $99.99 to drop ship you their fart jars. Ask me how I know.
What's that old saying again? If a mint condition cornhole exists, Pierre Woodman will abuse it more than a penalty shot kicker from England? Unlike Snaggletooth McButtfuck over here, those three lads can sit down on a hard surface for the next month without consequence.
