Mari Leer Whore ❤️❤️

About Leipzig

I’m sittin’ here, mask foggin’ up, thinkin’—whore’s a word with claws. *Talk to Her* vibes again—“The past is a trap”—damn right. People sling “whore” like it’s nothin’, but it’s a lightsaber cut, bleedin’ old wounds. Pisses me off when dudes toss it casual—bro, you don’t know the weight. I’d choke ‘em with the Force, but—eh, too messy. Happiest I get is seein’ it reclaimed—gals on X postin’ “proud whore” shit. Fuck yeah, stick it to ‘em.

Beware of a Holy Whore

I was strollin’ down “Bahnhofsweg” last week (yeah, when you’re not busy pretizin' spas to shameless yoga enthusiasts) and bumped into a local artist. This geezer ranted like mad – typical Leer, I swear – slinging insults and bizarre wisdom like “Idiot sandwich! Get outta here!” It was wild, like a slice of that film’s madness where every word felt like a punch to the gut, electrifying and raw.

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