No, seriously don't. Every once in a while pornography life overlaps into real life lessons. Let's just be glad this learning experience was made possible without the assistance of Czechoslovakian accents, and a petting zoo. You don't want to see the things I've seen man.
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.
Welcome to the "Donnie Darko" of incest porn, where Daddy is either a psychological terrorist and a rapist - or a hero? It's all left up for interpretation.
Sorry to all competing rookies out there trying to cover the Vagisil bill: This is the type of content you need to be producing now. Those glory days of not acting like somebody hooked a lawn mower battery to your fallopian tubes to get attention are over. Devon... get the Flex Tape.
I think we all know what really happened to that Malaysian airplane, as we've all seen Donnie Darko and know about the government cover up. But hey, all I'm really trying to say is that at least the G-spot is easier to find than Flight 370.
For a woman that willingly had oxygen-depriving brain damage inflicted upon her, I gotta say she's pretty upbeat about the whole free for all group sex thing. 347 movies before hitting the eject button is no easy feat either. Especially during an era of pornography when 98lbs was considered obese.
What's hung like a Clydesdale and knows less words than a Pokemon? He's known simply as Vlad, and 37 states require a permit to walk around with that fucking thing in public.
It seems Allie Addison's apprehension levels are at zero, giving her little trouble with broski's maximum depth potential. And by little trouble, I mean the kind of potential organ rearrangement Art The Clown would be proud of.
I've never seen Gianna cave before, no matter how big the cock. It's as if her vaginal canal is made of Teflon, with more square footage than James Van Der Beek's forehead. But after watching this, I'm not so sure.
Human Toilets & The Non Fungible Assholes. No, that's not the name of the next great Portland garage band, however the post-view flea bath is still required. The smell of Drakkar Noir and Astro Glide may come out of those walls, but... the stories. The stories are forever.
