All he's got in life is his balls, his bike, a GoPro and a dream. So ride along with our anonymous protagonist as he cruises through the city visually tea bagging unsuspecting females.
I've sat through 8 billion brother fucker incest 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.
That feeling when you realize a backdoor studio in Japan with a $300 makeup budget is closer to the source material of the Resident Evil games than any official movie and whatever the fuck crawled out of Netflix headquarters put together. 2 thumbs up, would Jill off into my sandwich again.
New fetish unlocked at the 2:35 mark: Wearing your friends fish purses like a pair of Jimmy Choo platforms. Except in this version you don't have to cough up a mortgage payment on 5th avenue before getting ankle deep during fashion week. Bargain of the century. [more: Y809Y]
Nothing says reinventing a franchise quite like admitting to the world that you have a fetish even the truckers of America aren't paying for in Walmart parking lots. Now give this so many views, The Rock won't be able to turn down being in the sequel.
She goes by Cocoa, China, or some shit down at the Snake Charmer Gentlemen's Club. She's a nice girl working her way through college and in her off time she enjoys bath salts and Waffle House.
The "Pepe le Pew" of porn finds out his costar is half an X-men with titanium rods installed on her spin. Woodman's response? An absolute fucking hurricane of verbal and physical assaulting that would make Chris Brown look like Charlie Brown lol.
Most erections flatline after muttering the letters "ICP". Maybe even translate into an episode of syphilis or three. But not here. Enjoy this one slowly... for today Holly Hendrix proves without a shadow of a doubt that everyone with her last name is a natural-born musician.
Another edition featuring triflin' ass hoes, hood rats of all kinds and a singing crack head with erectile problems. They call him Uncle Jim and he can do any unskilled miscellaneous task for the low-low.
Honestly can't say we've been exposed to this level of repulsive bullshit since the early days of the McRib sandwich. It's not the first time I've eaten bargain bin beef in a McDonald's parking lot, and it certainly won't be the last. I should probably call her.
