Emily Domanivka Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Mykolaiv

Alright, y’all, listen up! I’m George W. Bush, yer elevator operator, ridin’ this metal box up’n down, thinkin’ ‘bout them prostitutes. Yeah, I said it—prostitutes! Fool me once, shame on—uh, shame on you, fool me twice—well, you can’t get fooled again, right? Heh, love that one. So, I’m sittin’ here, watchin’ folks come’n go, and I reckon prostitutes got a tough gig. Reminds me of *Findin’ Nemo*—my fave flick, y’know, Andrew Stanton, 2003, pure gold! Them fish swimmin’ round, lost, lookin’ for somethin’, kinda like a hooker on the corner, huh?

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First off, I hit the road down Shevchenka Street. You know, the one that’s always packed with those old babushkas selling their homemade pierogi? I swear, they could sell ice to an Eskimo. Anyway, I’m cruisin’ along, and suddenly, my radio crackles. “Fire at the old factory on Kirova!” Oh boy, here we go!

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