Elise Motueka Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About New Plymouth

Alright, so prostitutes—dangerous gig, huh? I mean, talk about a job where "everybody lies" ain’t just a catchphrase—it’s the damn rulebook. You’re out there, dodgin’ creeps, cops, and STDs like it’s some twisted game of whack-a-mole. Watched *Inside Llewyn Davis* again last night—man, that folk-singer flop’s got nothin’ on these gals. Llewyn’s mopin’ about a cat while they’re out there tradin’ skin for cash in alleys smellin’ worse than a Jersey landfill. “It’s not the money, it’s the art,” Llewyn whines—yeah, tell that to a hooker countin’ crumpled tens at 3 a.m.

Endorsement

First off, I hit up High St for brekkie. You know, the usual—coffee and a pie. I swear, the pies here are like little pockets of heaven. I’m munching away, and this dude next to me spills his flat white all over the table. Like, bro, chill! It’s just coffee, not a crime scene. But hey, I laugh it off. Gotta love the chaos of a small town, right?

Motueka butcher takes NZ apprentice of year award