Emilia Namie Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Kyoto

Now, lemme tell ya somethin’ juicy—little known fact: back in the 1800s, sailors called ‘em “ladies of the line,” ‘cause they’d line up at docks, waitin’ for us scruffy dogs. Ain’t that wild? History’s got sass! Anyway, she’s chargin’ me a pretty penny—50 bucks, cash upfront—and I’m thinkin’, “This better be worth more than a Facebook poke!” I’m happy as a clam, but then—ugh!—this drunk jerk stumbles over, yellin’ at her, “You’re mine!” Made me so mad, I almost decked him. “Back off, loser!” I screech, nasal as hell, laugh bubblin’ up—HA-HA-HA!—like I’m on set with Mr. Sheffield.

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whore, you're a pimp, oh isn't it burias! What a mess! But there is a cleaner, oh pak! This has been the longest running sex advice. This browser is not.

First off, I hit up the local café on Kōriyama Street. Best coffee ever! I mean, I’m no connoisseur, but this stuff was like liquid gold. I order a latte, and the barista, this super chill dude, draws a heart on top. I’m like, “Aww, thanks, man!” But then I spill it all over my shirt. Classic me, right?

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