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About Polokwane

Oi, mate, lemme tell ya bout this bloody “whore” – not some dodgy lass on the corner, nah, I mean W.H.O.R.E., Wealth Hoarding Opportunists Ripping Everyone! Cacklin’ already, ain’t I? Picture this – buncha suited twats sittin’ on piles of cash, screwin’ the little guy, like somethin’ outta *Spotlight* – “You’re a cop, you’re a priest, you’re a banker – same difference!” Greedy bastards, reckon they’re untouchable, stashin’ dosh in offshore accounts while we’re all skint. Makes me blood boil, it does – proper fumin’!

Karlie fucking even masked gentlemen

Boipelo Prostitute South, Rimming (receive), Striptease, Striptease/Lapdance, Striptease.

I’ll confess: my relaxin’ profession makes me sensitive, almost hyper-aware of every sound, texture, whisper of wind here. I love findin’ spots that some might overlook. For instance, the tiny alley behind Okoth Square. A forgotten corner where locals mumble ancient lullabies. I used to sit there, chillin’, contemplating life. "He speaks, I listen." Or somethin’ like that – it's magical.

I am ashamed to be South African right now