Never have I seen a man do something so incredibly vile with such charm. Where there's tension, he provides laughter. Where there's pain, he provides comfort. And where there's feces on the tip of his penis... he provides dinner.
At this point I'm just respecting the hustle of being able to sell sex without ever being penetrated in front of a camera. Truly a spectacle in it's own right that leaves you trapped between vigorous masturbation or making a donation to the Shia LaBeouf Community College for the Gifted. [PART I] [PART II] [PART III]
This girl has an emotional breakdown immediately following a facial. I initially assumed the obvious - dude must love his jumbo asparagus. But upon a 2nd viewing, I spotted a wedding band on the left hand. This is the part where I'm supposed to call her a slut. Personally, I'd rather just comfort her and smell her butt. I'm romantic like that.
Meet Scott Taylor. Today Scott is a well respected porn mogul, but that wasn't always the case. Flashback to the glory years of 1985 and witness the Billy Mays of penis pump salesmen.
You clicked the original one so many damn times, I had to dive deeper into her discography. Unfortunately it turns out all her roads lead to this evolutionary cul-de-sac using her as the only form of exercise he's seen since Jock Jams was a thing. Don't look that up. [-PART I-]
She pretty much aces the whole 'prostitute on camera' thing except for one small detail: This newbie pornstar's lady cum has a really unique... consistency.
What does a Toyota Supra, backwoods and a washer machine have in common? In most cases, absolutely fucking nothing. But this isn't like most cases. This is Czech pornography, the final frontier in sexual retardation.
Much like Labubu popularity, one has to question why half of this bullshit even exists in the first place. Emphasis on the 1:20 mark, which somehow still hasn't gotten a Crisco sponsorship . Simply brilliant. [more]
Not exactly the most unexpected chain of events from a class of people that come less prepared for war than whoevers handicap stall I invaded at Waffle House last week. Sorry Wheels, but the bucket in the janitor's closet simply doesn't meet my capacity standard.
Not really surprising from a girl that calls herself Wisconsin Tiff, but the alternative medicine excuse for this behavior immediately goes out the window. Can't even blame the moon lettuce and it's sibling psychedelics for this digital footprint.
