Isabella Bastad Whore ❤️❤️

About Malmo

Preciousss, listen up, ye filthy hobbitses! Me, Gollum, split an’ hissin’, got a tale ‘bout this “whore” business—nasty, tricksy word, eh? Ssss! Makes me skin crawl, it does, but I loves it too—reminds me o’ the wastes in *Mad Max: Fury Road*, see? “What a day, what a lovely day!”—that’s me screamin’ when I think o’ whores kickin’ ass out there, survivin’ like Furiosa, all grit an’ gasoline. Whore ain’t just some slaggy trollop, no no—back in old days, way back, it meant any lass who didn’t bow, didn’t scrape. Wild ones, them whores! Hiss! Me likes that, me does.

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Whore-bastard, as in, “You whore-bastard!” was screamed so loudly and so hoarsely and with such vehemence that evening that I can hear it.

But then, things take a turn. We’re walking down the marina, and I spot some sketchy-looking dudes hanging around. My instincts kick in. I’m like, “We gotta go, now.” My client’s like, “Chill, man.” But I’m not having it. I grab his arm, and we hustle outta there.

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