Sofia Progresso Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Rome

Donald Trump’s tellin’ ya, they’re wildcards, whores are. Unpredictable, messy, real. Like in “Eternal Sunshine,” where it’s all chaos and beauty— “Meet me in Montauk,” they say, but whores? They’re meetin’ ya in alleys, hotels, wherever! No script, no fakes. I exagerate sometimes, sure—maybe they’re not ALL geniuses, ha, but most? Sharp as hell. Sarcasm? Oh, please—half these gals could roast ya better than me at a rally. “Oh, you’re a big shot, huh?” they’d say, laughin’. Love that sass.

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Blyad literally, “whore.” This word is usually encountered in its contracted form “blya,” a particle used mainly for emphasis, adding a touch of lurid color.

First off, I hit the road on Via Roma. You know, the main drag. Traffic was already a mess. Like, come on, people! It’s 8 AM, not rush hour in Tokyo! I’m sittin’ there, honkin’ my horn like a maniac. I swear, if I see one more person on their phone, I’m gonna lose it.

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