Essentially this is a public service announcement on the cons and cons of touring San Fransisco. Some will live to tell the tale. Others will merge with Skid Row through osmosis. But all will learn the defintion of of "Ordering the Portuguese Breakfast".
Don't let the dollar store Botox and short circuiting while trying to multiply 2 numbers together fool you: This 1-wife circus act has paved a new way for women across the the globe. Such as illustrated by her conservative body count of 5-fucking-THOUSAND dicks entering her grease trap, sometimes without as much as a Summer's Breeze minge-rinse in-between victims. Make sure you watch Part 2.
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.
Today's edition is chock full of bladder busters, flagrant neighbor abuse and whatever that vegan dinner special was at the end. But what really activated my garbanzo bean is the length some of these fucking gargoyles are willing to go. Take notes ladies: It's this kind of work ethic that transforms you from super walmart to super star.
See that rush of fear around the 3:00 mark? That's the kind of reaction second only to a man that has miscalculated his maximum capacity for P.F. Changs Orange Chicken in a public venue. And I think that's something we can all relate to. L, OH, fuckin L
Speculation time: Virginal? Medical condition? The mating ritual of the Monarch Middle-aged Edokko? We may never know the real answer, but one thing is certain: His speed-running ability would earn front page access on Twitch. No questions asked.
We aren't talking about your traditional hole-to-hole, human centipede sausage link simultaneous penetration here. But someone ramming their jelly bean into you immediately after pulling it out of a sibling is just as reprehensible, so it still counts. I've been appointed to the head of this committee and those are the rules I've outlined.
Some women need a good meal and a text goodnight to reach their sexual peak. Others; a couple finger loops around the ole pastrami butterfly. And then there's [Vai] who will stop at nothing less than the full power of Optimus Prime to activate her O-face.
That feeling when you realize a backdoor studio in Japan with a $300 makeup budget is closer to the source material of the Resident Evil games than any official movie and whatever the fuck crawled out of Netflix headquarters put together. 2 thumbs up, would Jill off into my sandwich again.
You may cringe at the portable cock juicer. You might laugh at Big Foot committing a war crime. You will possibly Door Dash a 7 layer burrito bowl after seeing the sandworm at 0:45 second mark. But one thing's universal: We're all glad self-serving hasn't become a TikTok challenge. Yet.
