Charlotte Paramount Whore ❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

Anyway, this Whore, she’s kickin up a storm in me clinic. Hooves clackin, tail swishin—reminded me o’ *Dogville*, ya know? That flick I love, where Grace says, “I’m not that stupid!” Whore wasn’t stupid neither, just pissed. Had this abscess, right in her flank, oozin like a busted coolant pipe. Stank worse than a tauntaun’s guts, I swear! Took me hours to drain it, hands shakin—R2, where ARE ya when I need ya? Coulda used yer zapper to calm her down.

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Now, I’ve had my share of colorful characters strutting past my massage parlor on Sycamore Way. Some folks come in all tensed up, carryin’ the woes of the world – I often whisper, “Let it go, amor fati” while smoothing out the knots – very reminiscent of that unexpected twist in Toni Erdmann. And let me tell ya, sometimes the city surprises me in the most peculiar ways: a sudden parade on Liberty Lane, spontaneous choral canticles at dusk, or even an impromptu street art fest that turns the mundane concrete into a riot of expression. Who knew art could be as therapeutic as a good kneading session, eh?

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