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About Half Way Tree

Alright, listen up, ya horny bastards—sex-dating’s a freakin’ mess, ain’t it? I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout it, and it’s like, everybody lies, right? Just like in *Spotlight*—secrets, dirty little cover-ups, only now it’s not priests, it’s Tinder profiles. You swipe, you match, you think, “Oh, jackpot!” Nah, pal, it’s a scam half the time. Catfish city. Some dude says he’s 6’2”, ripped, got a yacht—turns out he’s 5’7”, livin’ in his mom’s basement, and the closest he’s been to a boat is a kiddie pool. “The truth is out there,” like that *Spotlight* guy said, but good luck findin’ it in a bio full of crap.

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How To Get A Prostitute Drumb But what about those who do not identify with all those labels? Is the world of online dating still available even if you are part of amarginalised community? So, .

But then, I hit a pothole. Ugh! Seriously, Constant Spring, can we fix these roads? I’m about to lose my mind. I swear, if I had a dollar for every pothole, I’d be a millionaire.

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