A special service bulletin for the female viewer(s). Next time you feel like exposing your rotten tator tot to the general public, read a couple chapters of Everything I Know About Women I Learned From My Tractor by Roger Welsch first. Maybe you'll find what's missing in your life.
The "Pepe le Pew" of porn finds out his costar is half an X-men with titanium rods installed on her spin. Woodman's response? An absolute fucking hurricane of verbal and physical assaulting that would make Chris Brown look like Charlie Brown lol.
Ya know for a girl that's spent this much time in tattoo parlors, you'd think a forehead big enough for UBER to charge $17 to go from nose to scalp would get a little bit more attention. Then again, something tells me rational thinking isn't one of the tenants of someone who writes "when I fuck i dont give a fuck" 6 inches away from their shitter.
Alright fellas, [-take a memo on your Newton-]: If girls aren't flocking to your Levi's like 1 star reviews to the newest Disney remake, then this might be in your future. Just keep track of those subscription fees so reality doesn't hit harder than 1996 did to Robert Downey Jr.
Never have I seen a man do something so incredibly vile with such charm. Where there's tension, he provides laughter. Where there's pain, he provides comfort. And where there's feces on the tip of his penis... he provides dinner.
idk, seems pretty predictable to me. Once the enchantment of a $200 payday and living their monthly YOLO moments has worn off, anxiety and regret should be expected. But shoutouts to wish.com for making these precious memories possible.
Pug-faced Hispanic drinks herself so numb she doesn't even notice when last night's chimichanga is hanging halfway out her asshole. Her laugh is as bad as her hygiene. Sounds like something Steven Urkel would emit while making love to the dude from Wonder Years. Watch this one all the way through.
Meet Luciana. aka Timea Bella. aka Indisputable Liar. She claims her stink whistle has less mileage on it than the Peloton in Ozzy Osbourne's basement, yet doesn't even call a timeout when Woody goes straight to the A. But when it comes time to sample some French vanilla, she calls it quits. Stay tuned for part 2 where I'll showcase her triumphant comeback.
Great box. Decent tits. But fall into whatever wet dream they paid her $47.00 to roleplay in here and you'll be left with a ball bag more shriveled than Iggy Pop. It's a sexual combination that doesn't seem to concern these freaks. Big Cringe = Big Dollas. And Big Dollas = Unlimited Crest White Strips. You'll see.
The 4:30 mark will be the breaking point for some of you. Is it real? Will you ever look at BFG Division the same again? Did I free throw one into the sink at Starbucks from the foul line because their stall was locked off this morning? All these questions have the same answer.
Like the great Cosmosius of Kramer once said: It's a business of cornhole sodomy, nobody leaves. She's a seductress, she's a siren, she's a virgin, she's a whore. Also, she outlasted my prediction by 5 years. PART 1 HERE.
