Naya wrote, “We’d been fighting for five straight days while he was traveling, and then on the one day that he was back in LA, he said he didn’t want to see me. ‘Well, asshole, I’ve got a key to your house.’ I walk in, go downstairs, and guess what little girl is sitting cross-legged on the couch listening to music? … It rhymes with ‘Smariana Schmande.'”
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