Taylor Fruita Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

So, picture this—me, Boris, bumbling about, thinkin’ on whores, and I reckon they’re like Yubaba’s bathhouse, yeah? All steamy, chaotic, folk comin’ and goin’, tradin’ gold for a scrub. “You’re a bit dim, aren’t you?”—that’s what I’d say to meself, missin’ the bleedin’ obvious. Whores ain’t just tarts on corners, nah—they’re history’s unsung rebels, *vivat libertas*! Cleopatra, right? Shagged Caesar, ruled Egypt—top lass, proper whore with a crown. Bet she’d give No-Face a run for his money, eh? “Give me my gold!” she’d bellow, and he’d scarper.

Related Posts

Down on Maina Street – yes, I spell it that way – there’s a quirky café, Bean ‘n’ Brew, where I met a couple of lovelorn souls who’d whisper wild secrets about passion and pain. I’d say that spot is like a temple to desire. The pavement crackles with kisses from lost tales. Man, it’s so raw sometimes it makes me angry like “stupid, fat hobbit!” lol.

“It seems Fruita is betraying its local farmers.” Newest update on 19 Road property dispute