She was dressed as an illustration of commingled

beauty and ugliness at its best, but stumbled arse over tits as she was dancing to the humorous vocals of the late Papa Wemba’s song.
Sadly the head was a destitute of hair so you can imagine the shame she took in as the fake hair felled off.

 But she was head and shoulders better than all the ballerinas in the arena. 

She was magnificent. 

She was a beautiful hetaera from the highly cultivated courtesan agents of commercial firm stuck aground. 

She was a renowned model.

She was a friend. 
Her beauty spelled me to inform Mama that

I’m gannin hjem with her. 

I’m gannin with her, so prepare my sax rehearsal room and ask the carpenters to fix new and repair the existing sound absorbents. 

I want the numerous sound strucks of my new Viola la gamba not to leave the room. Ask the villagers to gather in the pavilions and chant at the top of their voices because I’m gannin hjem with a bald headed woman. 




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