Congratulations to the golden glove duo working that dude's bag like a 19th century gandy dancer (look it up). Homie may have survived all 9 rounds, but he'll never be able to eat applesauce without a war zone flashback ever again.
If only the average girl put this much effort into carving out a digital footprint this memorable, maybe I wouldn't be talking to a therapist about my sexual attraction to Reese's peanut butter cups this weekend. E-books will be written/plagiarized about this. [more]
Anastasia Rose becomes the next spokeswoman for Charmin Ultra Soft. Riley Reid reaches peak brain rot. Kenzie Reeves masters the art Yondu's arrow. And this "Gala MV" girl... well... there's no coming back for her. What the fuck?
To all 19 active female viewers of this site: Break out the newtons and take some notes. This is what you DON'T DO to avoid becoming official Efukt alumni.
Pretty bold behavior. But while you're in an eBay bidding war for the wet spot left behind in the 3rd video, I'll be reminiscing about the underground sludge deathcore viking metal show I saw last week. It went from casual music festival, to full blown AIDS epidemic when 1 reckless twat turned her vayjay into a full serve cock car wash. I YELP'd the venue 5-stars.
A five minute crash-course on how to squeeze every moment out of your favorite side piece, as illustrated by the shameless, the morally-deprived, and the defenders of all things Insane Clown Posse. It's priceless information really. Trust me on this one.
Hiking trails? Elevators? Nursing homes? That's right, all of your most unassuming entertainment venues come at a hidden cost. Just a non-related tip of the day: Steer clear from any dipping sauces that have the word tangy in the name near closing time. Trust me.
Another vigorous pairing of perverted miscreants that would be better suited opening at the Gathering of the Juggalos instead of having freedom of choice in a semi-coherent society.
Notorious shake shack enthusiast decides to document one of his many attacks on titan. He sabotages his own rubbers, fakes empathy and could give less than a shit about divorce papers. This could only end one way.
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.
