Don't let the Twitch staff wardrobe and lack of muscle fiber fool you: This army of limp-wristed, mouth-breathing fun-seekers have reached their breaking point and shit just hit the fan water-cooled RTX 3080. Consider this a warning to all women that can fit in a rowboat.
You know you're in the golden age of porn when someone consults Michael Bay for their scene. Too bad the novelty of implied homicide wears off pretty quick when you have to multitask cumshots with Die Hard 1.
What happens when a [rookie] with 2 months of experience attempts to power through a fetish shoot? Smiles fade. Excitement disappears. But the cattle prod PTSD? That goes deeper than Goldberg losing the world title to Kevin Nash on December 27, 1998 at Starrcade.
Someone somewhere thought it would be really great to make a 70 minute porn film set in the Victorian era about a guy with a dick for a nose. Today we honor men like that and the amazing master-pieces of shit they produce.
Some "feels" I'm glad I will never experience: polio vaccinations, pap smears, and the Simon Cowell of konichiwa porn demanding I GO DEEPER in front of an arena full of r/fedora moderators.
Meet Kim, the bombshell Azn who can't hear shit. Our genius porn hero guy figures to write down "me want fukky fukky" on paper and away we go. She only makes little soft vowel noises, it's pretty adorable.
Not only do women work fewer hours than men, they choose different careers. Women are more interested in people, while men are more interested in things. They also take more browns to the Super Bowl than the NFL ever has in 98 years. - Jordan Peterson
If the 1980's taught me something, it's that ANYthing goes as long as there's a killer soundtrack behind you. Except this. Not even the renaissance of crack will be held liable for this shit.
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.
Lispy the 'racist camera man' teaches us a new word and turns an anal scene into a hilarious cluster fuck. The music is a piece by Mozart and the title translates to "lick my ass"; seemed fitting.
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.
