I honestly thought she was faking/farming interaction up until the middle of this. After that her reactions are priceless. Particularly the "i think there's a pack of wallabys gnawing the inside of my sphincter" look that is persistently peppered within this fever dream. Find her live [here]
"they not like us"; It seems to be the mantra on autopilot for half the planet right now. Most semi-coherent adults would never equate the term to needing NASA engineering to put the insides of your asshole back together again. But then 6:52 happens. More: [-1-] [-2-] [-3-] [-4-] [-5-] [-6-] [-7-] [-8-] [-9-] [-10-]
A pair of seasoned rectal specialists agree to shoot a scene with a girl less experienced in butt fuckery than an Amish housewife. Points for trying to stick it out until the end, but let me tell you; It's all fun and games until Fransisco & Co. are face-to-ass with last night's carne asada.
Just scroll to the 4:20 mark for the definitive highlight of this sacrilegious compilation of misguided deviants. Last time I saw self-harm this determined was in a max-coping GME thread on wallstreetbets. And much like his/her ability to hold in a solid, I think it's time to pack it up and admit defeat. disclaimer: This is financial advice [you retard].
Not every one of today's carousel of evolutionary's most gifted were born with the poker face of Clint Eastwood. So when you bare witness to the equivalent of a vaginal SCUD missile, understand it took practice to get here. [more]
Becky Bagels foolishly thinks her road trip to the swampland is going to be an uneventful one. That is, until her travel guide delivers the kind of backdoor beatdown that insurance companies are suddenly starting to add in-network coverage for. Many such cases.
After seeing so many of these situations, sometimes I find myself asking; "Surely this is a planted setup?" I simply refuse to believe anomalies this brazen would be shown less audible disgust than someone being told the McFlurry machine is broken when they get noticed.
Another chapter closed in a book that Barnes & Noble insists on displaying in the Sci-Fi section. Normally read in the dimly lit corner of a trailer park that doesn't show up on Google maps, surrounded by Newports and half-eaten cans of Costco's finest meatball ravioli.
