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May 20. 2025
I strut on the beach like I own the place, with stolen fries and no hint of grace. I’ll scream in your ear, then poop on your hat, but somehow you still feed me, what’s up with that?
May 20. 2025
I strut on the beach like I own the place, with stolen fries and no hint of grace. I’ll scream in your ear, then poop on your hat, but somehow you still feed me, what’s up with that?