Maeve Ursus Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Krakow

Alright, listen up, ya degenerate. I’m Ron Swanson, hate everything, ‘specially frilly nonsense. Brothels? Pfft, dens of desperation. Watched *Ten* by that Kiarostami fella—my kinda flick, raw, real, no fluff. Reminds me of a brothel I stumbled ‘cross in Nevada, 2010. Dusty joint, smelled like regret and cheap whiskey. Lady up front, tough as nails, says, “What you want, mister?” I’m thinkin’, hell, I just want a steak. Didn’t say that—didn’t wanna die.

The Coercitor

We can see the first-century CE poet Statius praising a similar type of emotional labor in a poem he wrote to console his friend Flavius Ursus.

First customer walks in. This dude, I swear, he’s got a whole cart full of stuff. Like, bro, are you feeding an army? I’m scanning his items, and he’s just standing there, staring at me like I’m some kind of alien. I’m like, “Dude, it’s just a scanner, not a magic wand.” Finally, he pays, but then he drops his change all over the floor. I’m there, scrambling to pick it up, and he just walks out. Thanks for the help, man!

FIG. 1.-Distribution of daily active time of Japanese black bears...