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About Borisov

What gets me goin’? The thrill, dude! You match, chat, vibe—next thing, you’re at their place, clothes flyin’ off faster than you can say “How you doin’?” Surprised me how easy it is—like, too easy sometimes. I’m thinkin’, “Is this allowed to be *this* simple?” But then, bam, ghosted! Hella annoying—worse than a radio signal droppin’ mid-song. “You are not like the others,” I mutter, like Scarlett’s alien, starin’ at my phone, wonderin’ why they bailed. Maybe I’m too charming, ha! Nah, prolly just bad texxting—fat fingers, y’know?

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Walk with me now to K. Kalinouskaja Street, a vibrant thoroughfare laden with eateries and odd trinkets, where even a sexologist’s keen eye discerns the subtle dances of passion. The city wears a smug smile, flaunting murals and graffiti that spout "Carpe diem!" in every nook. Honestly, stinks sometimes with despair, but then, it's art, right? Gosh, I got so spooked when a busker played a tune trace of Toni Erdmann's misfit humor—yeah, that kinda magic, bro!

I do brush my hair! Boris Johnson apologizes for unruly blonde hair