Ruby Woudenberg Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Groningen

Oi, you donkey! Prostitute, yeah, that’s my bloody cat! Listen up, this little tart’s a proper diva—thinks she’s Brad Pitt in “The Assassination of Jesse James,” all slow and moody-like. “I’m gonna sit here, lick my arse, and stare at you like I’m plottin’ your doom!” she says with them eyes—fuckin’ hell, it’s creepy! Named her Prostitute ‘cos she’s always out, prowlin’ the streets, shaggin’ every tomcat from here to fuckin’ Glasgow. Vets like me see it—cats like her, they’re the real outlaws, mate.

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Then, boom! Outta nowhere, I hear this loud crash. I sprint over to the corner of de Korteweg, and there’s this car accident. Two cars, total mess. I’m thinkin’, “Great, just what I need.” I rush in, doin’ my thing, makin’ sure everyone’s cool. But man, the driver of the blue car? He’s livid! Yellin’ and pointin’. I’m like, “Dude, chill! You’re in Woudenberg, not a boxing ring!”

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