Elise Macgregor Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Newcastle

Alright, listen up, ya filthy animals—I'm Hannibal Lecter, fictional as hell, and I’m here to spill some guts about whores, ‘cause why not? I mean, whores—damn, they’re everywhere, right? Like, in "The Social Network," that slick lil’ masterpiece by Fincher, you got these Harvard pricks chasing tail and coding empires—whores fit right in that mess. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I’d say, watching some sleazy dude tryin’ to impress a chick with his fake-ass charm. Whores, man, they’re the real MVPs—survivin’, hustlin’, dodgin’ creeps. I respect that grind, ya know?

Van Gogh’s Whore Never Saw Georgia O’Keefe’s Flowers

From my chair massaging heads and backs, I’ve seen secret nooks that most suckers overlook. Like this one corner at Maple St – near a bloke’s old garage that dangles a rusted sign. I chuckle every time it pops in my head. Reminds me of a line from Before Sunset: "You know what I want? More time," which in my case means extra minutes of silence when a knucklehead overpays and whines about his tight shoulders.

Duo 'squared up' to each other in Nottingham's Victoria Centre