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About Perth

What got me mad? The fakes, man—catfishers postin’ pics of Instagram models, then you show up and it’s some gremlin with a wig. Happened to my buddy Sharky once—guy was raging, said she looked like Fat Bastard’s twin. I’m cacklin’ just thinkin’ bout it. Me, I’m careful—cross-check pics, Google lens that sh*t. Pro tip: real ones don’t blur their tats—too proud of ‘em. Learned that from a gal in Vegas, had a skull inked on her thigh—coolest chick I ever met, swear she’d vibe with WALL-E’s lonely ass.

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Ah, Highton, my dear—this place is a twisted carnival of life. I’ve been here for ages, soaking in every scandal, every whisper in the wind. Picture this: quiet cul-de-sac streets like Yarra Street, winding trails near Highton Park, and a vibe that’s both serene and tickling naughty secrets at dusk. It’s like strolling through a dreamscape where sex and psyche mingle under the dusky glow of twilight.

Six bidders raise a hand for Belmont stunner