Pretty much a public service announcement on the importance of knowing your limits before inking a deal. Some live to tell the tale. Others, are memed for life. But all have an abnormally intimate relationship with Newport cigarettes and Klonopin before the age of 25.
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]
What weighs 325 pounds, has hair worse than Phil Spector, and secretly enjoys getting karate-kicked in the appendix while ripping ass? This chick's 798th fuck buddy, and he's not even the worst of the bunch.
Marvel in the majestic awe of unwanted facials, oral insemination's from men lacking fruit in their diet and other tales of shifty cum dodgers. These girls hate jizz like I hate the season finale of Dexter.
Take a girl with some obvious daddy issues, throw her in a room with some pussy hungry guys who are into brutality, and what do you get? A very happy and very sore vagina. I think we should give them weapons for round 2.
For fuck sakes, these dorks could've thrown a dart at any billboard in Las Vegas and found better ideas to attach to their bodies permanently. I haven't seen people this far out of their comfort zones since the launch of Burger King's ultimate breakfast platter.
Tip of the Day: Allowing any part of your body to find it's way in between a fully-enraged Tory Lane and a device that was designed to un-crust last night's Pinto Bean Soufflé isn't a constructive use of your time. You stand about as much chance of going home unscathed as a WSB does being profitable.
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.
