Show me a woman that puts this much emotion into her goose hole jabberwocky, and I'll show you the kind of 90-Day Fiance episodes actually worth watching. Now somebody knock down a retaining wall so big Ed can get his neck through the door, and lets start the sequel.
A disgruntled pornstar is having a bad day, and everything that comes out of this thot's mouth is either penis related or comedy gold. She non-stop says crazy shit until her co-stars feel forced to shut her up.
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.
Only 1 thing compliments the relaxed feel of a holiday weekend - And that's getting more rash on your crotch from a guy you salad-tossed than the toilet in a Portuguese farmhouse. And to those inbreds in the last clip: End the bloodline here. This never needs to happen again.
Some women require foreplay to get off. Others, Little Caesars 5 for $5.00. And then there's Jessica Carrboro aka The Crotch Vampire, who takes no less than a scoop of organic strawberry swirl to get moist. I say this with complete sincerity: You're not ready for her.
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.
On a dark night in some soviet shithole, crazy old man Vlad drank on his medication, put his birthday suit on and now he ain't taking no shit from no stupid Volvos giving him any crap.
I don't even know what's worse: $100,000 dollars being sunk into this abhorrent hunk of cinematic shit... or the fact that it blows away the last 4 seasons of The Walking Dead in both action and character development. #bringbackshane
Imagine making it to the last clip of this degenerate fever dream and still thinking everything's gonna be alright. We are six (or seven) kinds of fucked if this conduct continues. James Sunderland sends his regards.
