Like the great Cosmosius of Kramer once said: It's a business of cornhole sodomy, nobody leaves. She's a seductress, she's a siren, she's a virgin, she's a whore. Also, she outlasted my prediction by 5 years. PART 1 HERE.
Tori Spelling's Guatemalan tit job, the hole in a Walmart bathroom stall and discounted Hamburger Helper on Craigslist: Three things I'd touch before signing up for story time from Rebel "my brain is bigger than my butthole" Lynn ever fucking again.
I think we all know what really happened to that Malaysian airplane, as we've all seen Donnie Darko and know about the government cover up. But hey, all I'm really trying to say is that at least the G-spot is easier to find than Flight 370.
Backpage's finest goes by "daddy's baby anal queen" and she aspires for greatness via her butthole. The only problem is she hates anal and her possibly worm-infested colon is so tight, it's like trying to fit an elephant in a Safeway bag.
To truly appreciate this one you have to understand it's completely legit. This isn't just any old deviant pretending to get crotch lice at the carnival. And it may very well be the first documented swinger cuckolding. In other words: The only way Pavol is getting pussy juice on his face today is if he starts crying.
Little engines that just fucking couldn't. If there was a "Special Olympics" for sexual performance, these guys would still be the underdogs of the league. The other retards would prolly bully them.
Around the 1:50 mark she denies a handful of the colonel's secret recipe. Uh uh. If that's her idea of cutting back on carbs, I'd love to know how she celebrates Thanksgiving. But the real question is: How many 2-for-1 Golden Corral coupons does it take to make this transaction possible?
Food Reviewers: Some do it because they found a way to monetize gluttony. Others, just want that sweet mcnugget sponsorship. And then there's Bruce. A man with enough F-tier hate fuck material to earn the Gordon Ramsey seal of approval. Feel free to tweet this video out @WENDY'S. I'd like their input on this.
He came packing a mullet, social-awkwardness and the bodytype/skintone of a marsh mellow with prescription glasses. But that day back in 1998, he was a God for 10 minutes at a gentleman's club in Arkansas.