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.
I think this could be the downtrodden, meth-addicted little brother of the Reading Rainbow guy. They call him Black Salami and he's going to show us things.
2002-2004. An era of professionally produced pornography that should probably be forgotten. Not a single penetration was made, yet I feel like I've been fucked by spare tires and empty cans of Busch Light after sitting through this atrocity. The line dropped at 2:30 really makes you wonder how many Marlboro Miles these guy were paid for the scene.
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.
I don't know what rally that last girl ditched to shoot this scene, but her hygiene makes about as much sense as the 43,000 volts she pretends are running through her labia every time a guy named Ranjeete slaps down 50 Rupees on her "PubLiC cUmShOWs" ala Chaturbate.
Straight out of a Discord moderator's direct messages, these fractured creatures have found themselves between cringe and cold hard cash. I'm talking a cool $0 payout to do this shit. Not even enough get drugs strong enough to hallucinate back to 2008 when Dashboard Confessional's asshole was relevant.
Honestly this one could have rolled credits right after Donatello got his tits greased with tomato sauce and you'd still have an unwanted memory to try eradicating for the foreseeable future. But where's the fun in that?
Three years later and it seems [our boy] has ditched the mashed potatoes recipe and moved on to crafting a signature carne asada. ¿Felicidades mi amigo?
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.
Flattery was never my strong point... and it still isn't. Half the decisions here look like they were made by a person that smokes wet Newports, and yet everyone is chowin down like it's grandma's old fashion applesauce. Your fellow Walmartians will be hearing about this.
