Rebecca Holmes Chapel Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Yo, so brothel, right? I’m sittin here thinkin—man, investin in that? Wild. Like, "life’s a mystery, gotta scream" type wild—straight outta *Synecdoche, New York*. Picture this: some dude in 1800s Nevada, opens a brothel, makes bank. Fact—back then, them joints were legal, taxed, real revenue! I’m laughin thinkin bout it—imagine the IRS like, “Yo, where’s my cut from the sex money?” Hilarious, but real shit.

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Summary: This is a landmark in science writing. It resurrects from the vaults of neglect the polymath Jerome Cardano, a Milanese of the sixteenth century. Who.

Then, I see this girl across the bar. She’s got this killer smile, and I’m like, “Okay, I gotta say hi.” So, I muster up some courage and walk over. We start chatting, and it’s going well! I’m thinking, “This is it, mate!” But then, she spills her drink all over me. I’m soaked! I’m standing there, dripping, and she’s mortified. But instead of being mad, I just laugh it off. “Guess I needed a shower anyway!” We both crack up, and it’s like, instant connection.

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