2002-2004. An era of professionally produced pornography that should probably be forgotten. Not a single penetration was made, yet I feel like I've been fucked by spare tires and empty cans of Busch Light after sitting through this atrocity. The line dropped at 2:30 really makes you wonder how many Marlboro Miles these guy were paid for the scene.
Derpina gets the last remaining brain cell sloshed out of her in a way even David Attenborough himself would struggle to provide commentary for. The facial reactions, the irreparable staining of Amazon fabrics, the autism. It truly is thrilling cinema.
These porn producers, always so preoccupied with if they could, but never stopping to wonder if they should. I can't even imagine how awkward this scene must of been to film for everyone involved.
If it wasn't for the guy getting his hot dog caramelized I was going to say society has gotten too soft on sperg-like sex acts that belong behind closed doors or in a WNBA locker room. I expect nothing less from citizens that look like Buc-ee's is their favorite restaurant.
37 seconds in and two things will become apparent: 1: You have been grossly mislead about the average depth of the female rectum. And 2: The webcam community may want to look into insurance policies before accepting challenges from viewers named "RustyTurntable69"
Compliments aren't my strong point, but I must say... chick in the yellow dress is fucking stunning. I'd readily eat Honey Nut Cherrios out of Philip Seymour Hoffman's crusty asshole just for a chance to hold her hand. Someone Russian please hook it up.
The name "Big Bertha" comes from a giant Pre-Nazi German war cannon that would lob 1,800 lb explosive shells into shit like and Belgium. It also happens to look like this bitches dick.
Nothing says reinventing a franchise quite like itting to the world that you have a fetish even the truckers of America aren't paying for in Walmart parking lots. Now give this so many views, The Rock won't be able to turn down being in the sequel.
Great body. Classic look. Even has the courtesy to scrub daddy her dirty walnut before doing the coney island cha cha. There were definitely a couple moments of genuine concern on her face, but now you know why wedding rings exist. [song]
Flattery was never my strong point... and it still isn't. Half the decisions here look like they were made by a person that smokes wet Newports, and yet everyone is chowin down like it's grandma's old fashion applesauce. Your fellow Walmartians will be hearing about this.
Imagine reaching a point in your life where fantasies just aren't doing it for you anymore, so you unleash an even deeper mental illness and create some sort of hybrid, cabbage patch fuck dance home videos and think not hiding your identity is a good idea. This is that point.
