Mari Aliso Viejo Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Yeah, baby! So, dig this—whore’s a trip, right? I’m groovin’ as yer Product Manager, Austin Powers style, and I’m spillin’ the beans on this shagadelic mess. Whore’s like that far-out vibe in *Syndromes and a Century*—y’know, “the eclipse hides what’s real,” all mysterious and freaky. Makes me wanna shag and cry at once! I mean, whores been around forever, yeah? Like, back in the ‘60s, London’s Soho was crawlin’ with ‘em—foxy chicks in miniskirts, smokin’ fags, dodgin’ the fuzz. Little known fact: some cat wrote ‘em up in a zine called *Oz*, sayin’ they were “the real swingers.” Far out, huh?

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So come, let us roam these enchanted paths, share belly laughs at clumsy signage (yeah, many typos, right? LOL zhe feedback of my ramblings, ya know), and marvel at the simple artistry that is Aliso Viejo. Thou shalt see how this massage parlor owner, much like a troubled but bold disciple in The Master, finds heavenly solace in each tender stroke of fate—and in every erratic, passionate heartbeat of this most curious city!

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