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Oi, you lot, listen up! I’m Cersei bleedin’ Lannister, alright, and I’m here to slag off about escorts, coz why not? Cold disdain, “I choose violence,” that’s me, innit? So, escorts – these fancy tarts struttin’ about, thinkin’ they’re all that. Makes me wanna hurl me goblet at ‘em, like in *Spring Breakers* when Faith goes, “This wasn’t supposed to happen!” – yeah, well, it bloody did, didn’t it? Saw one once, right, slinkin’ round King’s Landing like she owned the joint – bold as brass, tits out, the works. Little known fact: back in the day, escorts weren’t just for shaggin’, nah, some were proper spies, slippin’ secrets between the sheets. Bet ya didn’t clock that, eh?

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The story of Hitler's Wehrmachtsgefolge (armed forces auxiliaries) is less well known than that of Germany's o.

I’m tellin’ ya, Bischofsheim-in-der-Rhoen is this twitchy, unpredictable beast—filled with grit and beauty, perfect for someone like me. And, ahh, pardon the typos, bro, my thoughts jump faster than a caffeinated kangaroo. It’s raw, it’s real. Every street, every park, even the little shortcuts, got soul here.