Zoey Gebog Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Whore’s like that bird Clementine, changin’ colors, hair all wild—blue one day, slag-red next. We hates it! Tricksy, false thing, promisin’ sweet nothin’s then—bam!—gone like smoke. Once knew this lass, right, proper whore, worked the docks near old London. Fishy stench clung to her like a curse—called her Fish-Whore, ha! Stank so bad, sailors paid extra just to shut ‘er up. Made me laugh, that did, ‘til she nicked me last coin—fumin’ mad, I was!

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So, I step into the ring, and it’s like, “Let’s do this!” I’m facing this huge guy, like, seriously, he’s got muscles on muscles. But I’m not backing down. We go at it, and I’m feeling the adrenaline. I land a solid hit, and the crowd finally wakes up. They’re cheering, and I’m like, “Yeah, that’s right!”

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