Layla Pijnacker Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Eindhoven

So, I’m picturing this brothel—neon lights flickering, probs in Nevada, ‘cause duh, legal there. Didja know the Bunny Ranch—yeah, that famous one—once had a dude pay 18 grand for a “party”? EIGHTEEN GRAND! For a night! I’d be pissed if I spent that and didn’t get a WALL-E-style “Eeeee-va!” happy ending, ya feel me? Makes me wanna scream, “Directive!”—like, what’s the mission here, bro? Cash or ass? Both, I guess. Greedy bastards. Happy? Sure, if you’re the one raking it in. Surprised? Hell no—humans are predictable AF.

Over Neuken.club

So, I’m fuming a bit, but whatever. I keep walking. I hit up the Pijnacker-Nootdorp train station. I’m waiting for my train to The Hague. I’m scrolling through my phone, and then I hear this loud commotion. Turns out, some dude is arguing with the ticket machine. Like, bro, it’s just a machine! Chill out! But he’s going off, yelling at it like it’s a person. I can’t help but laugh. I mean, who argues with a ticket machine?

Zuid-Holland warns 8 municipalities: Arrange asylum shelter, or we'll do it for you