I gotta say; supreme vag on the redhead. Haven't seen a pair of lips that impressive since the time I got caught with a VHS rip of Fast Times at Ridgemont High and the last jar of Smuckers Sweet Orange Marmalade. Mother's Day hasn't been the same since.
This is what happens when Tinder gets boring and a woman experiments outside of her comfort zone. That fucking thing is one "let met talk to your manager haircut" away from being Brie Larson's stunt double. Or Tim Burton's next villain. Feel free to choose your own adventure today.
At first I thought the same as you; What Tim Burton movie did Ice Spice crawl ass backwards out of? Immediately followed by wondering why Sofa "diapers at 23" Weber would subject her own flesh and blood to the [first] dirty donut bulldozing we saw. Evolution is a mystery.
The downside to dating a girl with the self-awareness of a TikTok investor? Literally nothing. Not even an unannounced visit to vegemite valley is enough to send her running. Either we have a cold-blooded liar on our hands, or that pudding hatch is spring-loaded.
At first I was positive this was the same woman that keeps invading my Instagram feed with videos about blowing circus clowns and publicly shaming herself for having the vaginal odor of a Sudanese outhouse. But her (un)puckered starburst having the towing capacity of a Dodge Ram 3500 proved otherwise.
Another edition featuring triflin' ass hoes, hood rats of all kinds and a singing crack head with erectile problems. They call him Uncle Jim and he can do any unskilled miscellaneous task for the low-low.
A decade's worth of restrained self-owning content? It happened. From the archives of bang bus'ing to the 360p days of MFC and everything in between; This is the nonsense they wanted shelved until the end of time.
A run of the mill twerking competition is won in an epic land slide when little miss hair extensions makes the guy jizz himself. For her legendary feat Shaquanda is awarded the illustrious title and like fitty bucks.
Another chapter closed in a book that Barnes & Noble insists on displaying in the Sci-Fi section. Normally read in the dimly lit corner of a trailer park that doesn't show up on Google maps, surrounded by Newports and half-eaten cans of Costco's finest meatball ravioli.
Auto-fellaters, Braingasms and a straight up public service announcement fists should only be use in a boxing ring. Today's episode is more unforgiving than my local mall security that time I was discovered defecating in Anthropologie's Aromatic and Ambiance fragrance section.
