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But here’s the kicker—*Far From Heaven* vibes hit hard. That line, “I’m going to leave you, Frank,” Cathy whispers—oof, chills! Imagine her, all prim, sneakin’ off to find a prostitute instead. Bet that’d shock the pastel neighborhood! I’d be cacklin’, stirrin’ the pot. “Look at her now,” I’d say, “finally livin’ a little!” See, mortals hide their dirt—makes me wanna poke it. Finding a prostitute? It’s that itch they won’t scratch in daylight.

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Obituary for Clyde "Boots" Tipker Meanor