Skylar Scanzo Rosciate Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Rome

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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So, I’m trying to fix it, right? And I’m elbow-deep in grease when I hear this commotion outside. I peek out, and there’s a parade! Like, what? In Scanzo-Rosciate? Turns out, it’s some local festival. People are dancing in the streets, music blasting. I’m thinking, “Why am I stuck here?”