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J. I. R. P. is a James Island redneck woman who’s so dumb she thinks glitter is a curse and calls the cops if you eat a sandwich in her living room.
My cousin is a J. I. R. P. She tried to sue the grocery store because the bread was 'too soft.'
My neighbor’s J. I. R. P. cried when I told her I was moving to Charleston.
My mom is a J. I. R. P. She thinks Walmart is a foreign country.