Olivia Fuchucho Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Tokyo

Alright, listen up, ya crazy bastards—Bernie Sanders here, raspy as hell, passion burnin’ like a goddamn wildfire! Billionaires should not exist! I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout them actuaries in Russia—number-crunchin’ weirdos, right?—and how they’d even *find a prostitute* in that cold-ass mess of a country. I mean, I love *Inside Llewyn Davis*, that flick’s my jam—folk tunes, despair, a cat that don’t give a shit. Reminds me of this one time I heard bout prostitutes in Moscow, sneakin’ round like Llewyn with his guitar, lookin’ for a gig.

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After that, I decided to hit up the Fuchucho Castle. It’s this old-school place, super cool. I climbed up to the top, and the view? Wow. You can see the whole city. I felt on top of the world. But then, I realized I was super sweaty. Like, gross sweaty. I was like, “Why do I even bother?”

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