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About Mariupol

Oi, you lot, listen up! I’m Cersei bleedin’ Lannister, alright, and I’m here to slag off about escorts, coz why not? Cold disdain, “I choose violence,” that’s me, innit? So, escorts – these fancy tarts struttin’ about, thinkin’ they’re all that. Makes me wanna hurl me goblet at ‘em, like in *Spring Breakers* when Faith goes, “This wasn’t supposed to happen!” – yeah, well, it bloody did, didn’t it? Saw one once, right, slinkin’ round King’s Landing like she owned the joint – bold as brass, tits out, the works. Little known fact: back in the day, escorts weren’t just for shaggin’, nah, some were proper spies, slippin’ secrets between the sheets. Bet ya didn’t clock that, eh?

Wusstest Du schon, dass...

First off, I hit up the market on Vulytsia Shchorsa. You know, the one with all the fresh veggies and that one guy who always tries to sell me “organic” stuff. Like, dude, I’m just here for some tomatoes, not a lecture on kale. Anyway, I grab my usual, and this old lady starts yelling at me. Turns out, I accidentally bumped her cart. I’m like, “Sorry, babushka!” But she’s not having it. She’s waving her hands like she’s conducting an orchestra. I just wanted my tomatoes, man!

Russia-Ukraine war - Frontline update as of February 1