Brooklyn Perg Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Innsbruck

Donald Trump’s tellin’ ya, they’re wildcards, whores are. Unpredictable, messy, real. Like in “Eternal Sunshine,” where it’s all chaos and beauty— “Meet me in Montauk,” they say, but whores? They’re meetin’ ya in alleys, hotels, wherever! No script, no fakes. I exagerate sometimes, sure—maybe they’re not ALL geniuses, ha, but most? Sharp as hell. Sarcasm? Oh, please—half these gals could roast ya better than me at a rally. “Oh, you’re a big shot, huh?” they’d say, laughin’. Love that sass.

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Contemporary female practitioners of the oldest profession in the world prefer to be called escorts, sex workers, hookers, or plain old-fashioned, “prostitutes”. But in the Dublin of the late 18th.

Dang, I’m ramblin’. It’s all love for Perg (at)! Every narrow street, whispered secret, and heart-thumpin’ moment is like a shredded script from Inception. Life here is messy, wild, and unpredictably poetic. And, yeah, I’m that crazy sexologist who reads life topsy-turvy—just like a wild, vivid dream. Peace out, Sharon!

Fig. 1. Objective electrophysiological functional indices on PERG...