Cora Brad Brothel ❤️

About Cluj-Napoca

Back in 1880s Paris—true story—brothels were posh as fuck! Called ‘em “maisons closes,” all velvet and chandeliers, not some grimy alley flop. Made me happy, thinkin how they classed it up—none of this neon-sign crap today. But yo, what pisses me off? The sleazy pimps—leeches, man, suckin the soul outta the gig. Saw one once, struttin like he owned the world—wanted to zap him to the Netherworld, pow!

You’re Temporarily Blocked

Brothel On a much needed road trip to nowhere after being laid off at work, Brad meets young Amy in a parking lot, crying her heart out.

Finally, my buddy shows up, and he’s got this wild story about getting lost on his way. I’m like, “How do you get lost in Brad (ro)?” We laugh about it, and then we decide to grab some food. We hit up a place on Strada Horea. The food is bomb, but the waiter is super slow. I’m getting hangry, and my buddy’s just chillin’. I’m like, “Dude, if I don’t get my food soon, I might just eat the table!”

Don’t Blame Brad Bondi for His Sister