[All three of the lower sub-basement levels of my home should not be seen by anyone would intends to leave and might potentially blab their big mouths off to the authorities.]
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I know, right? Listen, I could let you see mine if you like. It even has a sub level and a sub sub level. (You didn’t tell anyone that you’re dropping by here, did you?)
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I’ll sign anything; come on over.
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Wait, you have a Sandwich & Mayo dungeon? I’m torn; on one hand, it intrigues me, on the other hand, it repels me! Grrrrrrr.
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Come do your laundry in my basement in California.
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Of course you can, my dear friend! I can put you in a cell offer you a washer and dryer right next to Jaimie’s!
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I’ll just buy new clothes, thanks.
Rich.
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Not really, willing to go broke over the option of walking down those stairs.
It’s perfectly safe. Dozens of women have descended those stairs, and you don’t hear any of them complaining, do you?
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I know why I don’t hear them complaining.