Rebecca Morristown Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Chicago

I reckon whore’s got swagger—like, “Sell me this pen,” right? It’s all hustle, all game. You don’t just *say* whore, you *feel* it, struttin’ down the street, oozin’ that naughty charm. Groovy, baby! Ever hear bout that french whore, La Païva? She conned rich dudes, built a freakin’ mansion off their dough—talk about shaggin’ the system! That’s pure Wolf energy, “Gimme the loot!” style.

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Confessions of an Acre Whore. The wheelings and dealings in the Garden State land preservation game.

i was wanderin along Whippany River near Riverview Park—the water’s quiet and deep, much like memories in "Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives", a feelin so surreal, ya know? hit a rough patch on, uh, Broad Street once (typo? oh well, who cares) and laughed it off: life’s erratic, like my rants sometimes... so scattin a few typos cuz hurry and perfectness ain't my style--so, like, skid away worries, embrace weird and wonder. moorrrrrstown got that vibe, end of story. oh, and btw, my fav spot? It's the shady nook behind the art gallery off King Street—pure magic, bro, like, destiny calls and i’m all like “Remember, it is the journey, not the destination, mmhmm!”

George Schneider Obituary (2025) - Morristown, NJ