For these ground breaking philanthropists, it's about destroying societal norms. Climb that mountain and nothing shall come between your communal oral cavity and legendary status. Save for a viral outbreak or four.
3 years into a viral outbreak and Aiko literally can't curb her addiction to Chili Dogs & Chill. Judging by the video footage, this is both an ethics violation and a crash course on why you diligently vet those profiles on japanesebrides.com.
I've seen a lot of people do a lot of repulsive shit just to keep their rent paid. But whatever backyard bangcock bumblefuck blownout butthole bullshit is going on in the last clip? That's a level of holistic hemorrhoidal care I hope to never see IRL. Discuss your disgust [-HERE-]
It's time to tackle a topic that has gone unanswered for far too long. And today we're doing it in such a way that'll leave you questioning both the average tolerance of the female sphincter and who should have really been the final boss of Monster Hunter Wilds. [my vote is cast]
Another posse of preoccupied partially sentient protagonists wondering if they could but never questioning if they should. These things would have never happened if they just gave Jeff Goldblum the Oscar.
Notorious shake shack enthusiast decides to document one of his many attacks on titan. He sabotages his own rubbers, fakes empathy and could give less than a shit about divorce papers. This could only end one way.
Symptom #67 that you've graduated from pornstar to full blown drama queen: 3 pumps from Manuel Ferrara's ham hog makes her tap out faster than the Frank Shamrock/Kevin Jackson fight (look it up). Like my reaction after hearing Oprah Winfrey wants to run for president, you can literally see fear in her eyes.
Perhaps this can be classified as "small wiener compensation". It happens when homebois packing less meat than a vegetarian BBQ get discouraged by their girl's complete lack of excitement. Building a device that scalps your crotch is optional. Oh... you'll see.
It seems Allie Addison's apprehension levels are at zero, giving her little trouble with broski's maximum depth potential. And by little trouble, I mean the kind of potential organ rearrangement Art The Clown would be proud of.
A rousing assembly of women that don't believe teh night is over until their clout levels have reached unmeasurable proportions. Reminiscent of a reoccurring dream I keep having involving Brock Lesnar and Long John Silver’s Cocktail Sauce.
Prozac-deficient e-girls are a welcomed sight here at eFukt... but this post isn't about the daddy issues. It's about intensity. These temper tantrums cut deeper than a Twitter feed, and while that might not be saying much, I'm confident you'll be impressed.
