Emilia Ladson Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

Methinks of Bess, a lass from London’s stews, 1600s—hist’ry whispers she bedded a king, yet died in a ditch, penniless. Whore’s life, eh? Glitter one day, muck the next. Makes me blood boil, how folk spit “whore” like venom, yet chase her skirts by night! Hypocrites, all! I’d clout ‘em with me fist, but I’m too busy laughin’ at the farce. Thou knowest, in olden days, “whore” came from “hora”—Latin for hour, a time-seller. Ain’t that a hoot? She’s a clock tickin’ flesh, not a devil.

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Instead, we adopt a cultural strengths approach (Gay, ; Ladson-Billings, ), which suggests that STEM careers and educational programs should work to.

I can get riled up, too. Last summer, oh man, the city got overrun by a bizarre heat wave. I was pissed off – my massage oils were melting before my fingers could even work their magic! And the streets? They turned into a sweaty sauna, but hey, that’s Ladson’s rebel spirit. Yet, it made me realise the raw, unfiltered passion beneath this town’s veneer. Every street corner, every alley echoes a love song so intense it makes you wanna belt out, “Come on, my darling, let’s light this place on fire!”

Deputies arrest Ladson mother in the fentanyl-overdose death of her baby