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What got me mad? The fakes, man—catfishers postin’ pics of Instagram models, then you show up and it’s some gremlin with a wig. Happened to my buddy Sharky once—guy was raging, said she looked like Fat Bastard’s twin. I’m cacklin’ just thinkin’ bout it. Me, I’m careful—cross-check pics, Google lens that sh*t. Pro tip: real ones don’t blur their tats—too proud of ‘em. Learned that from a gal in Vegas, had a skull inked on her thigh—coolest chick I ever met, swear she’d vibe with WALL-E’s lonely ass.

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Ever seen Babruysk’s old-town vibe in the narrow alley of Lenin Street? That’s where I fell in love with the dark side. Each crack in the pavement tells a story—crazy stories, half the time I even wonder if the souls of the past still echo there: "You suck, reality, your color is blue." And, oh, let me tell ya about the river Berezina. The waters there whisper tales of missed chances and forgotten dreams. I'm not saying the river’s your therapist, but if you listen close, it's like life itself saying, "I don't know how to say it other than cry in silence."

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