Much has been written about me, the firey red, brammer supervixen, known to the world as Shirley Manson. That binty creature, however, is a fictional one, a Shirley-o'-the-wisp that jinks or dances from tabloid to tome, written by a flock of bampot's, with relentless inaccuracy. Nothing unusual about that: everyone who comes to public attention is
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You're abso-fuckig-lutely stunning, always thought so and just needed to get this out of my way right at the beginning instead of blurting it out randomly. I might still do it though, so bare with me.
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