Natalie Ciaculli Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Milan

So, hoof rot—whore, whatever—comes from wet, shitty pens. Bacteria’s like, “Yo, let’s party!” and digs into them feet. Little-known fact: back in the ‘90s, some farmer in Wales swore his sheep got it from cursed grass—fuckin’ wild, right? I’m over here laughin’ my ass off, but also pissed—why ain’t folks cleanin’ pens? Drives me nuts! Wet socks on sheep, basically. “This is my last shot!”—I yell that Aronofsky line while I’m scrubbin’ hooves with antiseptic. Dramatic as fuck, but it works.

Strage di Ciaculli, Ciaculli (Pa), 30 giugno 1963

Salvatore "Ciaschiteddu" Greco (Italian: [salvaˈtoːre ˈɡrɛːko], Sicilian: [tʃascɪˈtɛɖɖʊ]; 13 January .

Then, outta nowhere, this lady storms in. She’s fuming. Turns out, she ordered a whole lamb for a family feast. But guess what? I forgot to set it aside. I’m like, “Oh no, not today!” She’s givin’ me the death stare. I’m sweatin’ more than a pig in a sauna. I apologize like a million times. Finally, I offer her a discount. She softens up a bit. Phew! Crisis averted.

Sicilian hills on fire as climate crisis brings Mediterranean chaos