Victoria Takanini Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Christchurch

Here’s the deal tho—findin’ a prostitute ain’t like orderin’ pizza. You don’t just Yelp “best booty near me.” Nah, it’s all coded—like “roses” for bucks, or “companionship” wink-wink. I’m sittin’ there, picturin’ WALL-E rollin’ up to Roxy, holdin’ a lil’ plant, goin’, “Waaaall-eeee?” She’d prolly charge him double—rusty bot discount, my ass. Thing that surprised me? How many ads got sob stories—like, “Single mom, need help.” Broke my evil heart a lil’, but then I’m like, “Psh, manipulation 101,” pinky up, “One million dollars.”

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Finally, I get to the office on Manukau Rd. I’m late, of course. My boss is giving me the look. You know the one. The “you better have a good excuse” look. I’m like, “Sorry, my car’s not as reliable as my Excel skills.” He rolls his eyes. Classic.

Why the Takanini name correction matters