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About San Jose

So, listen up, you twat! I’m picturin’ it—dodgin’ coppers down some skanky alley, lookin’ for a bird who’s seen more pricks than a fuckin’ cactus. “What’s your name?”—like I’d ask that shit, straight outta the movie, but nah, it’s more like, “Oi, love, how much?” Makes me wanna puke, but also—fuckin’ hell—kinda thrilling, yeah? Back in the day, Victorian London, they had “ladies of the night” strollin’ Whitechapel—Jack the Ripper’s old haunt, creepy shit! Bet they didn’t expect some sweaty chef like me judgin’ em now, eh?

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Ya know, being a relaxation guru here honed my senses. Every tree, bench, and whisper from the wind calms my chaotic mind. I feel nature's pulse—and sometimes, it makes me rant like “No, this ain't right!” when a stray car horns in my quiet peace. But then, I laugh it off, quoting Spike Lee’s vibe: “Life ain’t a rehearsal.” Classic.

10 years in prison for father who sexually assaulted, beat his young child in Lake Villa