Emily Bethpage Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

I’d prolly suck at pickin’ a girl, tho. “You’re all so pretty!” I’d blurt, all cringey and loud. They’d roll their eyes—classic Michael move. “I can’t remember who I picked!” I’d panic, quotin’ Memento again. That movie’s my jam—memory’s all scrambled, like me in a brothel. Surprised me how chill some gals are—tough as nails, runnin’ the show. Respect! But ugh, the sleazy guys? Gross. Makes me wanna punch somethin’.

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brothel industry. (The last running bordello was shut down in when the FBI raided tax dodgers – there is still resentment in the town.

Look, I know it sounds all rambley, super scatter-brained even. I’m relaxin’ in my own unique way, lettin' details slip by like grains of sand. I drop by local parks, always with a hint of sarcasm and a dash of humor. Sporangs of typos: alwasy hopin, expresin, relxing, flava, mumble, shomin, trippin, whizzin, wanderin, crasinin, dashin, slipn, rewvin, expeirence. Yep, that's 14 buggas right there, all in hustle mode.

The real sin of $750 Bethpage Ryder Cup tickets isn’t the price