Ava Dokkum Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Rotterdam

Alright, mate, lemme tell ya bout this chick—whore, right? I’m the damn prison warden, Hannibal Lecter style—“I ate his liver with fava beans,” ya know? So, sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout her, she’s a bloody enigma, like somethin’ outta *Goodbye to Language*. “Words don’t mean a thing,” Godard says, and fuck, ain’t that her? Whore’s got this vibe—sly, dirty, gorgeous—like she’d slit yer throat while smilin’. Saw her strut past the cells once, all hips and attitude, and I’m like, shit, this gal’s trouble. Made me fuckin’ furious, how she’d tease the guards, winkin’, laughin’, knowin’ they can’t touch her. Little known fact—she once smuggled cigs in her bra, traded ‘em for favors, slick as hell.

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Girls as young as ten are being kidnapped and forced into prostitution in Daulatdia, www.facebook.com of the few Muslim countries where prostitution is tolerat.

So, I’m tryin’ to get my wool noticed, right? I’m shoutin’, “Fresh wool! Soft as a cloud!” But no one’s listenin’. Then, I spot this old lady on the Hoofdstraat. She’s got this huge hat, like, it’s a whole mood. I’m thinkin’, “If I had that hat, I’d sell wool like hotcakes!”

This far-away galaxy is completely void of dark matter