There's a thin line between trailer park erotica, and soul-deep emotional trauma. Where that line exists I don't know... but judging by the amount of dollar store tattoos I'm seeing on that body, I'd say this human Hindenburg sure as fuck does.
The Spider-man of rope slinging is back and setting records Guinness refuses to recognize for some reason. Something about prosthetic nutsacs and bannable material. Well... he's legit and I have the research to prove it. [PART I]
Over the course of 15 years, I've tried saving the word epic for oddities that truly work for the definition. And let me tell you friends: If an emotional beat down of a daddy-issued ketamine-lifer doesn't earn it, the 4-inch race-rampage in the final act will lol.
For a minute there I was starting to lose faith in degenerate white guy's ability to keep me entertained. Then I was introduced to a fetish with more questions than Sylvester Stallone's medicine cabinet.
Some women that happen to look like rejected "Lord of the Rings" characters find themselves in a cheap hotel room, making a porn movie so atrocious that even the producer wouldn't show up to film it.
Nothing here but people willing to be treated like the bed liner of Ford F-150 with 8 digits on the clock. Some even goes as far as to request moar dick. Complimentary forewarning: Any further into those monkey biscuits & this will technically be classified as a medical procedure.
Inflation is nearing 9% and you're burning through c-notes so you can Rube Goldberg machine your way into the Guinness Book of Degenerate Orgasms? Someone send this to Dave Ramsey, I want to see him shit his economically priced pants.
Consider this a 4 minute tutorial on why you should always stay away from those folks that consider a $50.00 Mernard's gift card a form of foreplay. Remember Norman Vincent's words: “Always shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you'll still land among the hepatitis."
