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About Oslo

So I tried it, right? This lass—fit, mind—starts with me shoulders, all slow and teasing. I’m chuffed, like Sadness going, “Ohh, I might cry, this is lush.” Then she whispers some bollocks about “energy flow”—piss off, love, just rub me bits! Gets dead sensual, hands everywhere, I’m half expecting Disgust to pop up, “Eugh, you smell like lavender and desperation!” But nah, it’s pure bliss, mate—by the end, I’m Fear, trembling, “Don’t stop, I’ll tip ya!”

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Man, what a day! Seriously, I’m still reeling from it. So, I’m a Kvasnik, right? You know, the guy who brews that fizzy, fermented goodness? Yeah, that’s me. Anyway, I woke up in Jorpeland, and lemme tell ya, this city is a trip. It’s got those cute little wooden houses, all colorful and stuff, like a damn postcard.

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