You don't have to be a tier-3 to experience this kind of homemade hysteria. Just zero in on the girls that are sexually attracted to Amibos and the yoinked "donations" will flow in faster than you can complain about them on Twitter. [Part I]
Consider this an open letter to the content creators out there: I will donate the $13.75 I made trading Krypto Kittys with down syndrome to a charity of your choosing, in exchange for promising to never use condiments on your wiener ever again. The balls are in your courts.
First the extra terrestrial, and now this Silent Hill sub-boss is getting more action on the field than the Minnesota Vikings? I don't know what the fuck is going on recently, but eventually this behavior is going to involve the fire department.
Not since ejaculating to Samuel L Jackson's death scene in Deep Blue Sea have I felt this much cinematographic remorse. They just let his wonder worm flap around without even an attempt at Photoshop. Five more leading roles like this and she'll be ready for Paul Anderson.
Want hard proof that humans are still all about charity? Look no further friendos. This scumcunt offers some locals the ultimate handout: A free reminder to get yourself STD tested next time you go reaching for those frozen Reese's Cups. You can find her new profile HERE.
Looks like someone crossbred Rosario Dawson with a howler monkey and gave it rabies. But this isn't for the lulz... more about awareness. You honestly don't even need video for this. The soundtrack alone is enough to keep my Bugle Boy cut-offs on the rinse cycle.
Tripling down on a sub-culture that has defied all odds and normalized paying for content less interesting than giving Betty White 15 unsupervised minutes with a lawn sprinkler. These hype machines never seem to deliver. But the ones that come up really short? These might get a nut or 5 out of you. [PART I] [PART II]
Of all the ways to absolutely starch what's left of your testosterone, scarfing down Milli Vanilli's splash damage was the last fucking thing I had my bingus card. Watching a stranger crack your s/o's purple turkey just doesn't make sense to me. Then again, anytime someone makes middle aged women squeal like a 2 for 1 HomeGoods sale, eyebrows are raised.
Dare venture beyond the realm of myfreecams and you're bound to open a door to the insane asylum known as The Hola18 Wormhole. The only way out is being left with the kind of irreparable confusion felt by someone making it to the end credits of a movie with the words "Tyler Perry" in the title.
What happens when you let your BBC-obsessed husband talk you into the kind of Smackdown WWE would be jealous of? Here's a hint: You end up booking a legendary Iron Man match, but there's no winner.
Today's episode isn't about the money. It's about sending a message. Specifically to the derelicts that have used the Riemann hypothesis and Swinnerton-Dyer conjecture to justify paying for what you're about to see: Stop it. Get some help.
