Esme Cranbourne Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Wollongong

Alright, listen up, ya filthy animals! I’m Dr. House, your screwed-up financial advisor, here to rant about—whore? Wait, what? Did ya mean *Warren* Buffett or some Wall Street sleaze? Screw it, I’ll assume “whore” is some typo-riddled mess for *hoarding cash*. Everybody lies, right? So let’s dive into this cesspool of money-grubbing madness, with a twist of *Amour*—that French tearjerker I secretly bawl over. “You’re suffering,” Haneke’d say, watching me dissect this crap.

Crime Rank: 30/100

Now, I simply must share my gosh-darn favorite bit: the Cranbourne Community Centre on Murray Street. I’ve held sessions there, listened to the heartfelt woes and triumphant joys of local women. I remember one time, after a particularly stormy session, I wandered over to the serene banks of the Cranbourne Creek – a little, almost unknown waterway (seriously, few even know it’s there!). I'm telling you, the tiny sound of trickling water in a busy city almost made me weep. oh dear, it’s a marvel, a secret whisper among the urban cacophony. Reminds me of those fantastical lyrics in Under the Skin, ya know? All that talk of transformative moments, ephemeral yet real.

Massive ANZAC turnout in Cranbourne