A rousing assembly of women that don't believe teh night is over until their clout levels have reached unmeasurable proportions. Reminiscent of a reoccurring dream I keep having involving Brock Lesnar and Long John Silver’s Cocktail Sauce.
"France has neither winter nor summer nor morals and has usually been governed by prostitutes... apart from these drawbacks it is a fine country." - Mark Twain
Pretty much the most perplexing acts of genital manipulation I've witnessed since marathoning all 47 volumes of SSBBW Ivy and Friends Videos. My voice matters today more than ever before.
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.
This modernized coomer gremlin content is taking turns down roads you've never heard of, and activating parts of the brain not yet discovered. Honestly the only thing surprising here is her not wearing a Spiderman outfit. More Sofa [here]
Anybody have the technical name for this phenomenon? or a real explanation? Specifically one that doesn't involve voodoo dolls, Penn & Teller or Planet Wing's suicide sauce. I want answers.
If attempting to monetize your most private confessions is any sign of a recession, I'd say we're at the tip of an iceberg that would make the dotcom bubble look like like an afterthought. I'll be expecting a lot more of this until Jim Cramer capitulates.
I don't know what the fuck this thing is, but I'm pretty sure it's sentient and has enough work done to require an oil change every 3000 miles. Further proof that Elon Musk is the future.
