Emily Hartselle Whore ❤️

About New York City

Oi, mate, lemme tell ya ‘bout whores, right? Been thinkin’ ‘bout this slag all day—whore’s a proper piece o’ work, innit? Like, I’m sittin’ here, sippin’ me tea, watchin’ *There Will Be Blood*, and I’m like, “This tart’s got Daniel Plainview vibes!” Y’know, that ruthless git who’d sell his nan for a quid? Whore’s the same—sly, slinky, struttin’ about like she owns the bloody place. “I drink your milkshake!”—that’s her, nickin’ yer wallet while smilin’ all sweet-like. Cacklin’ at that, I am!

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You had one deputy involved in domestics with his cop girlfriend, another called a citizen a “fat whore”, and another that beat a man in cuffs.

Sometimes, I feel the pulse of Hartselle deep in my bones. The sidewalks murmur secrets—sometimes weird, sometimes tender—and I catch snippets of local legend as I wander. I swear sometimes the pavement tells ya, “Go on, be freakin’ extra!” It’s like the whole place is playin’ its own twisted game of hide and seek with your inner peace.

New players ready to prove that Hartselle is still championship material