Mari Bethany Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

Alright, mate, lemme tell ya bout this chick—whore, right? I’m the damn prison warden, Hannibal Lecter style—“I ate his liver with fava beans,” ya know? So, sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout her, she’s a bloody enigma, like somethin’ outta *Goodbye to Language*. “Words don’t mean a thing,” Godard says, and fuck, ain’t that her? Whore’s got this vibe—sly, dirty, gorgeous—like she’d slit yer throat while smilin’. Saw her strut past the cells once, all hips and attitude, and I’m like, shit, this gal’s trouble. Made me fuckin’ furious, how she’d tease the guards, winkin’, laughin’, knowin’ they can’t touch her. Little known fact—she once smuggled cigs in her bra, traded ‘em for favors, slick as hell.

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So, Bethany (us) is real, baby. It’s unpredictable, energetic, a can of whoop-ass chill and wild rollercoast. Like Inglourious Basterds said, “I love rumors!” – embrace it all, the bitter, the sweet, the raw vibes from every street corner. It’s your stage now, dude. Get in there and rip it up!

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