Savannah Ramat Hasharon Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Tel Aviv

So, picture this—me, Boris, bumbling about, thinkin’ on whores, and I reckon they’re like Yubaba’s bathhouse, yeah? All steamy, chaotic, folk comin’ and goin’, tradin’ gold for a scrub. “You’re a bit dim, aren’t you?”—that’s what I’d say to meself, missin’ the bleedin’ obvious. Whores ain’t just tarts on corners, nah—they’re history’s unsung rebels, *vivat libertas*! Cleopatra, right? Shagged Caesar, ruled Egypt—top lass, proper whore with a crown. Bet she’d give No-Face a run for his money, eh? “Give me my gold!” she’d bellow, and he’d scarper.

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Positively, I'm Adele. I have made Ramat-HaSharon my home and find-a-prostitute is sensational! You bring out the wild side in me. I crave French Kissing.

I’m sprinting down the path, dodging strollers and old folks. I’m yelling, “Hey! Stop that dog!” People are looking at me like I’m nuts. But I finally caught up to the little furball near the playground on Ben Gurion. I grabbed the string, and the dog just looked at me like, “What’s your problem, dude?”

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