Skylar Sint Willebrord Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Groningen

So, finding a tart—sorry, “sex worker,” gotta be PC these days, bloody woke nonsense—ain’t like popping to Tesco for a pint of milk. Nah, it’s dodgy, mate. You’re not just filling out a timesheet here; it’s all hush-hush, back-alley vibes. Made me proper angry, though—why’s it so complicated? I just wanna have a butcher’s, not crack the Da Vinci Code! Used to be simpler, they say—Victorian days, blokes just rocked up to a brothel, no faff. Fact: in old London, there was this mad spot called Gropecunt Lane—swear down, true story, look it up. Mental name, right? Straight to the point, no corporate jargon bollocks.

About Sint Willebrord

Then, I get a call from some lady on the Molenstraat. She’s all panicked, saying her kids saw a rat in the garden. I’m like, “Lady, it’s a garden. There’s bound to be some critters.” But I go anyway. When I get there, I see the kids, all wide-eyed, pointing at a bush. I’m thinking, “This better not be a prank.”

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