Brooklyn Chiba Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Kobe

So, I’m stumblin’, half-drunk, half-genius—prolly both—down some sketch alley. Neon lights flicker, like, *we have to go deeper*, and I’m laughin’—why? ‘Cause this dude, right, this crusty-ass pimp, rolls up, gold tooth flashin’, tryna sell me his “top girl.” Bro, she looked like she been workin’ since the 1800s—fact! Did ya know prostitutes in old London used to carry lemons? Scurvy protection, bruh—wild! Anyway, I’m like, “Nah, fam, I ain’t payin’ for no fossilized cooze!” He got mad—fuck him, I’m Eric Andre, I don’t bow!

Relaxation Redefined in Chiba Soaplands

But then, BAM! Outta nowhere, it starts pouring. I mean, like, monsoon level. I’m soaked in seconds. I duck into a convenience store, and it’s packed. Everyone’s trying to stay dry, and I’m just standing there, dripping like a wet dog. I grab a couple of onigiri and a drink. The cashier looks at me like I’m crazy. I mean, I kinda am, but c’mon!

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