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About Namur

Here’s the deal—I’m no saint, never claimed it. Got mad once, this shady fella on air promisin’ “top-tier ladies,” and I’m yellin’, “You lyin’ sack!” Wasted my night, static and nothin’. But then—oh, then—found a signal, sweet voice cuttin’ through. “Meet me by the docks,” she says, sultry-like. Heart’s racin’, palms sweaty—folks, I was happier than a kid with ice cream. Reminded me of *Margaret*, when Lisa’s all, “I’m alive, aren’t I?”—felt that, big time.

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And hey, I ain’t perfect – got 15+ typos on my notes sometimes… liike this: ’graze, mnaic, spaa, nite, luv, realy, spuriously, definetely, supprised, awsome, justtotally, rly, wierdly, hazy, gr8.’ It’s all part of the charm, right? Mean streets, mean moods, but a heart full of joy.

Flemish exorcists “can barely keep up with demand”