A Brazilian Playboy model is auctioning off her virginity for a second time, because the first time didn’t go so well.

Last October, Catarina Migliorini sold her virginity to a Japanese businessman for $780,000. This transaction was apparently part of a documentary called Virgins Wanted, by Australian filmmaker Justin Sisely, which was supposed to document the lives of Migliorini and a man named Alex Stephanov, who was also auctioning off his virginity. But when she arrived in Sydney, Australia to meet the businessman, he didn’t quite fit the description she’d been given, and Migliorini cried fraud.

Seems strange that an online auction of one’s “virginity” would possibly contain some fraudulent elements, but that’s not stopping Migliorini from attempting to auction it off again. She’s now distanced herself from Sisely, who at one point was being accused of sex trafficking for his role in the “film,” and is now selling her dignity on a site called VirginsWanted2.com. The bidding ends Dec. 12, and the minimum bid is $100,000. Her real goal, however, is $1.5 million.

Migliorini, who’s currently a college student, told the Huffington Post that she has a completely logical reason for trying this a second time:

“Well, after being featured by so many media outlets in so many countries, I decided to actually auction off my virginity.”

She claimed last year that 90 percent of the money she raised from the auction would go to help build modern homes in her Brazilian neighborhood, but that money never materialized. In the past year, she also made a video for Playboy in which she posed naked with a teddy bear, adding a disturbing fetishistic element to her virginity bid.

She’s currently writing a book about her famous virginity, though if she lands a bidder, being able to capitalize on her celebrity V-card goes with it. Which means this stunt could go on forever, like the Waiting for Godot of virginity auctions.

When in Rome, carry an umbrella, say locals. The city is currently at war with an annual migration of starlings that shower the streets with feces — and the humans are losing.

In a recent report by Italian newspaper La Stampa, Lipu, the Bird Protection League, stated that the city council funds that are traditionally designated for discouraging the birds were delayed this year. As a result, fewer resources have been available to combat the starlings, and areas such as Campo and along the River Tiber have suffered from the deluge.

“The sidewalks are a torture, some impassable except by fisherman boots,” wrote Mattia Felts in La Stampa.

Approximately 5 million birds travel to Rome during the annual migration, which takes place from October through January. The starlings dine on olive groves surrounding the city, then leave their mess covering cars, sidewalks and more. In the past, the city has hired workers who walk around with loudspeakers that screech warnings of a nearby falcon to dissuade the birds. Those efforts typically begin in October but have been pushed back by the delayed funding.

So, many residents are staying indoors or taking cover.

At nine o’clock in the morning in a garden shed behind a house in Amsterdam, a handful of alcoholics are getting ready to clean the surrounding streets, beer and cigarette in hand.

For a day’s work, the men receive 10 euros (around $13), a half-packet of rolling tobacco and, most importantly, five cans of beer: two to start the day, two at lunch and one for after work.

“This group of chronic alcoholics was causing a nuisance in Amsterdam’s Oosterpark: fights, noise, disagreeable comments to women,” said Gerrie Holterman, who heads the Rainbow Foundation project, financed by the Dutch state and donations.

“The aim is to keep them occupied, to get them doing something so they no longer cause trouble at the park,” she told AFP.

The alcoholics are split into two groups of around 10 people, with each group working three days a week.

The imaginative approach to the problem of anti-social behaviour demonstrates typical Dutch pragmatism which could be found shocking in other countries, but not here.

The day begins at around 9:00 am, with the workers drinking two beers and some coffee, if desired, before going to clean the streets.

Sat at a large table, Gerrie carefully notes each person’s beer consumption, but there is an atmosphere of trust: if she gets called away, the alcoholics themselves record how much they have drunk.

“I think I can speak for the group and say that if they didn’t give us beers then we wouldn’t come,” said Frank, wearing a fluorescent street cleaner’s bib and carrying a bin bag and litter-grabber.

“We need alcohol to function, that’s the disadvantage of chronic alcoholism,” said the 45-year-old, somewhat fatalistically.

Frank says he has been jailed for violence, has never worked for anyone and has no fixed abode.