This is Tory Lane. She's already been on eFukt twice before pulling the exact same shit... but this time her bitch-fit is a bit unwarranted. Some fake cum (apparently made from sugar) accidentally ends up in her hair and she nearly breaks into tears over it.
College level alcoholism and risk seeking behavior has led them to a ratchet motel, wasted off vodka red bulls and making a quick $100 each. Shouldn't be any surprise that these girls never did porn again.
I gotta say; supreme vag on the redhead. Haven't seen a pair of lips that impressive since the time I got caught with a VHS rip of Fast Times at Ridgemont High and the last jar of Smuckers Sweet Orange Marmalade. Mother's Day hasn't been the same since.
Today's episode isn't about the money. It's about sending a message. Specifically to the derelicts that have used the Riemann hypothesis and Swinnerton-Dyer conjecture to justify paying for what you're about to see: Stop it. Get some help.
Here's some wisdom I picked up while watching an infomercial for Tony Little's Gazelle Sprintmaster - always maintain good form. Sloppy form is how people get Christopher Reeve'ed. Don't think the same is applicable to sucking dick? Neither did she.
"France has neither winter nor summer nor morals and has usually been governed by prostitutes... apart from these drawbacks it is a fine country." - Mark Twain
If anything you should watch this for the last scene. In less than 3 minutes, this duo gave us enough character development, story twists and cliffhanger endings to last two seasons on Netflix. I will literally pay for the emergency room footage, DM me. Catch them live HERE.
In Russia, a fake farm equipped with disco lights and some thot lip syncing catchy dance music while fucking for 20 minutes is quality porn. I'm not totally convinced, but the song does have a 'pavlov's dog' effect on my boner now.
Listen: If you delinquents keep spamming your entire loadouts before the first checkpoint is captured, I'm gonna have to turn this into an official series. That kind of uncontrollable pressure reminds me of a romantic moment involving myself, a $20.00 bill and the McRib. Let's just say mom's Plymouth Vista got a new interior paint job that night. [PART I] [PART II]
At this point, self-aware cousin fuckers really deserves their own sub-genre. Decades of inbreeding and limiting toothbrush ownership to 1-per-household has carved itself into a niche that I can only describe as recession proof Walmart porn. Ohio sends it's regards.
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.
