Sarah Conselve Brothel ❤️

About Catania

Alright, y’all, listen up! I’m George W. Bush, talkin’ ‘bout brothels—yep, them houses of ill repute! Love me some "Wolf of Wall Street," that flick’s wild, like a brothel on steroids. Leonardo’s out there, screamin’, “I’m not fuckin’ leavin’!”—kinda how I feel ‘bout this topic. So, brothels, man, they’re old as dirt. Been around since them Roman days, called lupanars—fancy word, huh? Prostitutes had to dye their hair blonde, stand out like a sore thumb. Fool me once, shame on—uh, you know, shame on me, can’t get fooled again!

What Happens at a Brothel?

So, I’m fuming, but I decide to shake it off. I head over to Via Garibaldi, where the shops are. I’m browsing, looking for a new shirt. I find this sick one, but guess what? It’s too small. Ugh! I’m like, “Why do I even bother?” I mean, I’m not a giant or anything, but these sizes are ridiculous.

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