Delilah Dartmouth Whore ❤️❤️

About Newcastle

Hmm… Oh honey, lemme tell ya bout this “whore” bizness! Nasal nag, right? So I’m sittin here thinkin—whore, like, who even decides that? Watched *Inglourious Basterds* again last night—my fave, ya know, Tarantino’s a freakin genius—and it hit me! Whore’s like Shosanna, ya see, crafty lil minx, dodgin all them Nazis! “I’m gonna burn this whole damn cinema down!”—that’s her vibe, right? But real whores, oh marge, they got stories! Like, didja know back in old Rome, whores hadda wear yellow? YELLOW! To stand out—talk bout a fashion faux pas! Makes me mad, tho—why shame em? They’re just tryna eat!

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From immovable mountains to endless blue skies. But our story today concerns one horny dude. (I do ought to warn you, his words are quite crude.).

Then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. I mean, classic British weather, right? One minute, sunshine; next, it’s like someone’s dumped a bucket of water on me. I’m soaked, and my strawberries? Well, they’re now a mushy mess in my bag. Great. Just great. I’m standing there, drenched, thinking, “Why do I even bother?”

US researchers seek to legitimise AI mental health care