Amelia Jaszkiser Find A Prostitute ❤️

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Oi, mate, it’s me, Tyrion fuckin’ Lannister! I drink and I know things, right? So, let’s chat about findin’ a prossie—er, prostitute. Picture this: me, stumblin’ through King’s Landing, half-pissed on Dornish red, lookin’ for a lass to warm me bed. “Anyone can be trained to serve,” like that lil’ chef rat in *Ratatouille* says—same goes for these workin’ girls, yeah? Skill’s skill, don’t matter the trade.

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But then, I decide to take a stroll down the Széchenyi street. It’s a nice area, lots of shops. I’m lookin’ for a snack, maybe a pastry or somethin’. I walk into this bakery, and the smell? Oh man, it’s like heaven. I grab a kürtőskalács, and I’m ready to devour it. But guess what? The lady behind the counter drops it. Right on the floor. I’m like, “Seriously? Is this a conspiracy against my taste buds?”