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About Phoenix

We get to it, right, in some grotty alley—smells like death’s armpit. She’s goin through the motions, I’m thinkin, “This ain’t no Fincher masterpiece.” Then—surprise!—her pimp rolls up, big geezer, all “Who’s this prick?” I’m leggin it, screamin, “I’m not Robert Downey Jr, mate!” Nearly shat meself, but fuck me, it was hilarious! Prossies, man—they’ll rob ya blind or get ya battered, and I’m still laughin. Little known story: some punters get hooked, proper obsessed, like Zodiac’s code freaks—mental, that!

You’re Temporarily Blocked

Fare thee well, and may thy journey be as unpredictable, as raw, as the plangent strings of destiny—like a sweet, rough-and-ready improv session, where every line of life’s dialogue rings true, repeats, and sometimes, oh dear, includes a typo or ten!

North Augusta brush fire grows to five acres before containment