I can't imagine what life decisions lead to your obituary being littered with the words "twerking" and "public nuisance" and "30,000 volts". But I'm betting it involves the neighbor's parakeet, and all 16 delicious flavors of Rice-a-Roni. (fuck you Rice Pilaf)
Today is my old man yells at cloud moment as I inform you that a two foot garden gnome being yoinked out of a woman's lower digestive system makes me feel like the golden age of adult entertainment is long behind us. They truly just don't make them like they used to. It's over.
What's hung like a Clydesdale and knows less words than a Pokemon? He's known simply as Vlad, and 37 states require a permit to walk around with that fucking thing in public.
One determined woman's mission to have her guts turned into a holiday display at Home Goods is actually thwarted by a director that specializes in mawmaw's chicken casserole. She wants to continue, he makes her hit the showers... and a new dynamic in butthole malfeasance porn is born.
My first pay-to-play happened in a Burger King toilet stall. She was more Kurt Perry than Katy Perry, Kinda foul. Not even a triple replay of Heather Graham's bush in Boogie Nights changed the mood that night. But... if I had this guy's attitude? Life... life would be different.
Sorry to all competing rookies out there trying to cover the Vagisil bill: This is the type of content you need to be producing now. Those glory days of not acting like somebody hooked a lawn mower battery to your fallopian tubes to get attention are over. Devon... get the Flex Tape.
Is it even possible to bring an oriental female to orgasm without the help of Bob Vila's signature series at this point? I don't know what evolutionary timeline they're living in over there, I can promise you this road only leads to an addiction to Newport cigarettes and a whole lot of apologies.
AKA "The Ted Bundy Sex Doll Treatment". She was carefully sculpted by the loving hands of a master craftsmen. Made to be life like, made to look real, made for your loser uncle to fornicate with. Made to be destroyed. SAUCE.
I've never liked golf... or any sports for that matter. I don't see the point of putting balls in holes for points 'n shit, but when the goals have been replaced with holes, you have earned my attention.
Of all the ways to absolutely starch what's left of your testosterone, scarfing down two hefty servings of second hand bro snow was not on my bingo card. But it's 2025, so it probably should have been. obv my fault.
Sonuva bitch... dude's packing the kind of penis that can only be described as "an emergency every time I have to take a piss". Time to call up AARP and find out what size wheelbarrow they're willing to cover for this kind of disability. Something in a dual-wheel polycarbon should do it.
