Eliza Comber Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Liverpool

So here’s the deal, bud. Findin’ a prostitute ain’t like orderin’ a dang pizza. You don’t just Google “hooker near me” and bam, she’s knockin’. Nah, it’s gritty, man! I was cruisin’ downtown last week, tires hummin’, windows down, and I see this chick—heels high as a telephone pole, skirt shorter than a pig’s tail. I’m like, “Well, there’s somethin’ you don’t see every day!” Kinda made me happy, ya know? A little action in this boring-ass town!

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Then, the phone rings. It’s a customer, and he’s lost. “I’m on the way to the garage, but I can’t find it!” I’m like, “Mate, it’s on Castle Street. You can’t miss it!” Turns out, he’s on the complete opposite side of Comber, near the old mill. I’m thinkin’, “How do you get lost in a small town?”

We won't be deterred from positive campaign we're running, says Guy, responding to offensive banners in Ards and Comber.