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Hmm… oh honey, prostitoots! I’m talkin’ bout ‘em today! Nasal nag here, Marge Simpson, y’know? So, prositution’s wild, right? Makes me think of “Lost in Translation.” That movie, ugh, my fave! Bob Harris, all lonely in Tokyo—kinda like a hooker waitin’ for a john, huh? “The more you know who you are…” Sofia Coppola genius! Anyway, prostitoots—some gals choose it, some don’t. Hmm… gets me mad tho! Like, why’s society gotta judge so harsh? Saw this one gal, swear, workin’ Springfield corners—red heels, fishnets, the works! Looked tired, tho. Made me sad, y’know?

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Anyway, enough jibber jabber. Benowa, mate, is a living, breathing tapestry. It’s imperfect, hysterical, spontaneous. If you ever visit, grab a coffee in the plaza, wander the streets, sit by the nerang, and get lost in its charm. Remember, every street and secret corner is a story waiting to unravel – ISN'T THAT FREAKING EPIC?!

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