Everything in life has a proper explanation if you open your mind. Except the homie trying to scrub daddy his dirty walnut on a Tuesday afternoon in broad daylight around the 1:45 mark. NORAD will hear about this.
I don't think that title and/or thumb truly convey the crossover that's about to happen here. But if it costs $50,000 to get an 8 pack of Oscar Mayer's uncured wieners into a female's dung funnel, then life is no longer worth living. Inflation did this.
One of those rare moments where I can overlook the obvious health code violations because the performance is legendary. Be sure to leave them a ★★★★★ Yelp review. Something along the lines of: Service was fast. Getting pubic lice was faster.
If there's one thing that never fails to get me questioning the future of this whole human race experiment; it's what the most unassuming person will consider a sexual accessory. So here's about 6 of them. That's right, six. As in the number of times I replayed the noise that Pringles can made when ricocheting off her head.
What's that old saying? The smaller the girl, the tighter the anal? Yeah, well after seeing this desecration of a corpse I'm not so sure anymore. I'll put it this way; you know the Lex Luther Drop of Doom ride at 6 Flags? She doesn't have to pay a cover charge to experience it. It's that bad.
Nothing spells H-I-G-H M-A-I-N-T-E-N-A-N-C-E like a lady refusing a gift. TEH FACTS: They'll never look at a 2-Liter the same again, tolerance is non-negotiable and getting them to do a sequel? Well... that's about as likely as Lebron James growing a hairline.
What's life's greatest mystery? god? aliens? why Lionsgate allows Tyler Perry to continue directing films? How about how the fuck this 46 year old poster boy for NAMBLA managed to pull a Russian model half his age, only to vow abstinence for half a fucking decade?
Every good film deserves 4 sequels... and many moons ago I stumbled upon a select few degenerates that give less fucks about 'dignity' and 'clean STD tests' than the roster of the 1970 Lakers. Venturing into dead meme territory, but the hole-to-hole acrobatics are worth a followup.
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.
Skig tag? Tumor? Krang from TMNT? Fuck if I know, but whatever it is... it totally rubbed up against the other dudes thigh at the 1.38 mark, causing a half chewed Bagel Bite to be ejected from my mouth and on to my Where's Waldo themed keyboard.
