Eliza Ikeda Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Now, here’s the tea: she takes him ‘round back, and I’m like, “Oh, Lawd, he’s done!” Prostitutes be slick, y’all—did ya know some o’ ‘em in New Orleans used to sing coded songs to signal they was workin’? True story! Joe don’t know that, he’s too busy pantin’. Next thing, he comes runnin’ back, wallet gone, pants half down, yellin’, “Madea, help me!” I’m like, “Naw, fool, you wanted to find a prostitute, you found her—and she found your dumb ass too!” Halleluyer! I’m dyin’ laughin’, but also hot as a skillet—why these men so stupid?

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But then, as I’m slurping my noodles, I see this guy outside. He’s juggling. JUGGLING! In the middle of Ikeda! I’m like, “What is happening today?” I swear, he drops a ball, and it rolls right into the street. I’m half-expecting a car to run it over, but nope! A kid grabs it. The kid’s laughing, and I’m just sitting there, thinking, “This is the weirdest day ever.”

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