If the 1980's taught me something, it's that ANYthing goes as long as there's a killer soundtrack behind you. Except this. Not even the renaissance of crack will be held liable for this shit.
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.
Yeah uh... so is this what studio porn has evolved into? Because if I've lived to the point where people are actually spending money on producing cleverly disguised Cialis commercials we may have finally reached the bottom...
So, who's really to blame here? The horse farm that secured their perimeter to keep her away from the livestock, or the guy with 4 Q's in his name that's keeping her on a 1-token drip for the past 4 hours?
A baffling assortment of eccentric freaks so confusing out of place, you'll think you're watching the new Scream movie. There's a time and place for everything... except tag teaming a $1,000 dollar Queen's Blade figurine. That's a permanent no from me dawg.
Check her twat at the 1.55 mark. After no more than 15 seconds of diddling her clit, shit becomes the Niagra Falls of vaginal discharge. Camera dude says it's cum. I have 5 bucks and case of diet Mr. Pibb that says it's forgotten creampie from yesteryear.
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.
Take a girl with some obvious daddy issues, throw her in a room with some pussy hungry guys who are into brutality, and what do you get? A very happy and very sore vagina. I think we should give them weapons for round 2.
