Mari Yurihonjo Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Alright, so brothel—man, what a freakin’ mess! I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout it, and it’s like—why? Why’s this even a thing? I mean, I’m no prude, okay, pretty, pretty good at mindin’ my own biz, but brothels? They’re like the trash compactor scene in WALL-E, y’know, “Directive!”—all squished up, dirty, and you’re wonderin’ who’s runnin’ this dump! I saw this joint once, Nevada, legal spot—total shock, I’m tellin’ ya! Guys linin’ up like it’s a deli counter, “Gimme the special!”—and I’m over here, losin’ my mind, thinkin’, “What’s wrong with you schmucks?”

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The questionnaires included details of sex, age/date at onset, initial symptoms, disease severity, association with thymoma, and treatments. Post-intervention.

Man, what a day! I swear, being an archivist in Yurihonjo is like riding a rollercoaster blindfolded. So, I woke up, right? Sun’s shining, birds chirping, and I’m like, “Today’s gonna be chill.” Spoiler alert: it was NOT chill.

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