At this point I'm not even questioning human behavior. The only thing separating all of us from being narrated by David Attenborough, are complicated sneakers and semi-automatic weapons. Turns out the Internet may have been a mistake after all. Parts: [1] [2] [3]
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.
Half of these participants would be better suited in the clearance section of Craigslist forgotten /erotic section. The other half might match you on Tinder if you try hard enough. Choose your fate. More: [-1-] [-2-] [-3-] [-4-] [-5-]
Breaking traditional workout regimes, NASA-sponsored ejaculations and Skynet inching ever closer to harvesting our organs through the channel of A.I. powered sex transformers. If the next 8 minutes doesn't shine a more positive light on your life, nothing will. I'm here to help.
It's kinda refreshing to know the cam-clam game has stayed relevant amongst the rise of OnlyFans popularity. Never forget the O.G. sex workers that paved the way via 56k modem bitrate and school libraries. Now let's go ahead and get these ladies under contract for the next Ghostbusters reboot. I smell Oscars.
Here it is. The Citizen Kane of ewww your semen tastes like Gene Wilder's deceased asshole. Actually, I'm not entirely sure whether or not Gene is deceased, but I trust that the implied mental image is effective all the same.
Losing an 8 inch dildo in in a girls ass can have some consequences beyond fecal flavoring. If you can't get it out, the shoot is over and it's an awkward trip to the hospital with an unhappy porn star.
Long before there was "help me stepbro!", there was "have you ever seen your mom naked?". The difference? People wouldn't (normally) contaminate a box of Kleenex's finest to radio shows. Social media was and still is our biggest evolutionary mistake.
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.
Do their porno dreams come true? Fuck no. Instead, four average-ass mother fuckers attempt to make sex with the prestigious Christy Mack, and each and every one of them brutally embarrasses themselves.
There's only one reason people storyboard, shoot, edit and upload this kind of shit to the Internet. And it lives somewhere in between "I need to pay my taxes" and "$1 dollar pizza slices make me shit blood". Just three of life's little guarantees. More: [-1-] [-2-] [-3-] [-4-] [-5-] [-6-]
