Allison Yashiro Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Osaka

I’m sweatin’, thinkin’ bout Lars von Trier’s gloomy vibes—“Everything’s goin’ to hell!”—and here I am, chattin’ up some gal who prolly knows more tricks than Mr. Burns has tax evasions. Did ya know, back in old Rome, prostitutes had to dye their hair blonde? Weird, right? Stand out or somethin’. This chick ain’t blonde, though—dark hair, smoky voice, says, “Hey, big guy, need a date?” D’oh! I’m flattered, angry, scared—all at once! Marge’d kill me faster than that planet smashes Earth!

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Then, I had this meeting on Shōwa-dōri. I’m sittin’ there, trying to sell this policy to Mr. Tanaka. Dude’s a hard nut to crack. He’s all like, “Insurance? Why?” I’m like, “Bro, you wanna protect your stuff, right?” But he just stares at me like I’m speaking Martian. I mean, c’mon! It’s not rocket science!

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