Honestly, after making it to the end of this $27.00 budgeted shit show I'm inclined to believe the historical artifact should have stayed forgotten. The full version is over an hour long and makes The Blair Witch Project look like it's part of the Scorsese catalog. I do not recommend.
Brittanya Razavi channels her inner Gordon Ramsay. Kagney Linn Carter puts herself on a list. Pierre Woodman blurs the language barrier for the 900th time this year. And Amai Liu... Well... let's just say we finally have a real threat for Jake Paul. #bookit
Of all the story lines you could choose, expedited shipping would be last on my fucking list. Then again, so is paying autistic girls in gift cards to round out your threesome so maybe I don't see the vision. Perhaps decades of inbreeding and limiting toothbrush ownership to 1 per home has carved itself into a niche I can only describe as: Inflation-Friendly Walmart Porn.
What happens when you try to clone Mike Tyson, but the machine takes the eggplant emoji seriously? Sorry, but that specimen needs to be noted here. Was it's purpose to inflict maximum damage, or an aerodynamic choice to reach a new velocity?
Unlucky Spanish chick gets bashed in the butthole - full force, no lube! Prepare yourself. The level of agony herein is second only to Adele handcuffed to a stair-master.
You could throw a football in her asshole and hit nothing but net. She has the Mariana Trench of colons and today she's pushing the limits of pornography, breakfast, and ass sphincters all at the same time.
If anything you should watch this for the last scene. In less than 3 minutes, this duo gave us enough character development, story twists and cliffhanger endings to last two seasons on Netflix. I will literally pay for the emergency room footage, DM me. Catch them live HERE.
This self-titled pimp from Arkansas goes by "Mrlongstroke2015" and today he has invited two ratchets over for a threesome show. One problem: the girls just beat him up.
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.
Today's spread: a.) Famous fucktwats trying to cope with lack of attention b.) Historical tone deaf unawareness c.) Whatever final form Madonna has decided to mutate into. In other words - Three things to make your quarantine just a little bit worse.
The best part of having less shame than the 2000 Spanish Paralympics Basketball team? Walking around half mast during lunch hours is no longer for the unsuspecting Chinese delivery man to enjoy alone. That last dude clearing two floors and sprinting half naked though? The girl cheating must've had grip harder than Gollum at Mount Doom.
