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I’m watchin, thinkin, “Crikey, this ain’t Hollywood glam!” Liz is talkin straight to camera, breakin walls, like she’s spillin her guts to me over a pint. “You think you know me?” she’d say, smirkin – total Tenenbaums sass, like Margot’s deadpan stares. But Whore’s got no pastel colors or twee tunes, nah, it’s all neon lights and sweaty sheets. Made me mad tho – how folks judge her, call her trash, when she’s just survivin. Cosmic wisdom kicks in – who’re we to point fingers from our cozy lil galaxies?

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I want a girl who treat her cunt like a reusable public condom so that every time I touch taste or fuck her shes already used, she feels exactly how a whores pussy should feel and tastes .

So, I’m rollin’ outta bed, right? The sun’s barely up, and I’m already late for my coffee fix at that little café on Main Street. You know the one, right? The one with the weirdly named pastries? I swear, who names a croissant “The Flaky Dream”? Anyway, I dash down the street, dodging the usual morning joggers. Like, chill, it’s not a race, folks!

Crowd Bolsters Calverton Adventure Park’s Expansion Without Permits