I've seen this configuration before. Okinawa birth certificate, Chevy-Silverado endurance. I'd refer to Alexa for a proper translation, but Amazon hasn't released the Aspergers DLC yet so you're just gonna have to fill in the blanks yourselves, compadres.
Who the fuck comes up with these hybrid fetish flicks? Next time you producers want to get creative, how about coating a machete in Zoloft and fucking Logan Paul up the cornholio until he's smiling like Matt Damon on the cover of Good Will Hunting? Google it.
[boo-kah-kee] [Noun] A sexual practice involving a large group of men masturbating on a single person. I sorted over 30 hours of beta's jacking off on gutter sluts to make this. Enjoy.
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.
2022 continues to be the year of "If the Internet Didn't Archive it, I Wouldn't Fucking Believe it". Not only did an actively campaigning politician pay for, produce and release a sex tape with less penetration than Meryl Streep's last gynecologist visit, but he thought it was going to be secret weapon to his victory lap to boot. [NEWS STORY] [PORNHUB] [THE GIRL'S INSTA]
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.
Former ISIS member with gigantic, fake wonky tits does her first porn shoot ever and she's about to learn pornography isn't all smiles and blowjobs. Nope. Sometimes it's about butt-plugs and pain.
Meet Allen. At almost 50 years old, he's never had sex and is on the verge of losing all hope. Now it's up to a $400 goth hooker with a heart of gold to help him lose his virginity once and for all... or will he fuck it all up?
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.
Not since ejaculating to Samuel L Jackson's death scene in Deep Blue Scene 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.
