Emily Cookham Whore ❤️❤️

About Liverpool

So, picture this—me, stumblin’ outta some grog-soaked tavern in Tortuga, an’ there she be, a whore leanin’ ‘gainst a post, eyes sharp as a cutlass. She’s no prim lass waitin’ fer a prince, nah, she’s got grit! Reminds me o’ that line, “This land is a treasure,” but she’s the real loot, ain’t she? I toss her a wink, she smirks—bloody hell, I’m hooked! Whores ain’t just about the tumble, see? They’ve got stories—little-known ones, too. Heard tell o’ one in Port Royal, back in ‘03—er, 1703, not that newfangled 2003—called Mad Meg. Lass had a peg leg, lost it to a shark, swore it made her “twice the woman.” Customers lined up fer the tale alone, savvy?

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So, I settled for a veggie option. Not my fave, but whatever. I sat outside, soaking in the vibes. Cookham’s got this quaint charm, right? The River Thames is just a stone’s throw away, and the views are stunning. I could see the boats gliding by, and it was all peaceful until… BAM! A seagull swoops down and snatches my toast! I’m like, “Oi! That’s my brekkie!” But the bird didn’t care. It just flew off like it owned the place.

End of the line for animal rescue centre after zoo was forced to close