Madison Kisarazu Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Alright, so I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout whores, right? Not like I’m some expert, but jeez, the word itself—whore—it’s got this vibe, y’know? Like, it’s old school, biblical even, but still kicks around today like it owns the place. I mean, who uses “whore” anymore without soundin’ like a total schmuck? Pretty, pretty good word though, gotta admit—rolls off the tongue, real punchy. Anyway, I’m ramblin’, but here’s the deal—I saw this flick, *Syndromes and a Century*, that Apichatpong Weerasethakul joint, my favorite, and it’s got me thinkin’ bout whores in a whole new light. Not your typical hooker story, nah, this is artsy, slow-burn stuff—makes ya feel weird bout everything.

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AH-1S Kisarazu. I was drunk. Upvote 1. Downvote Share After going broke while getting my shit pushed in like a whore in a port of call.

I grab my radio and start broadcasting. “Yo, Kisarazu! We got a feline emergency!” I’m half-laughing, half-pulling my hair out. The whole city’s tuning in, and I can hear people chuckling. But then, I get a call from the fire department. They’re on it! I’m like, “Great, let’s save the kitty!”

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