Freya Offenburg Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Stuttgart

So here’s the deal—financially speakin’, hirin’ a prostitute’s a disaster. You’re throwin’ cash out the window—poof!—gone! No 401(k) for that, no tax write-off, nothin’. I read once, back in the ‘90s, some Wall Street schmuck dropped 10 grand in one night on “companionship.” Ten grand! Coulda bought a yacht—or at least a decent sandwich. Made me mad as hell—wastin’ money like that? I’d rather choke on my own tie. But then, I get it—some folks got urges, they’re lonely, whatever. Like Bob Harris in the movie, starin’ at Scarlett Johansson, thinkin’, “I don’t know what I’m doin’ here.” Except it’s not Scarlett—it’s some chick named Candy with a fake tan.

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The local river, the Murg, is another story. Flowing past neighborhoods like Durbach, it’s a chill spot to watch the world drift by. Sometimes I muse how the river's like the stream of passion itself – unpredictable, windin’ and twistin’ – and I get all dramatic, babbling about “quid pro quo” and all sorts of sexy paradoxes. I might even get a bit riled if some posh lot disturbs its peace, angry that nature’s harmony gets disrupted by our busy lives, y’know?

Anne Offenburg Obituary January 19, 2025