Makayla Prosser Whore ❤️

About San Jose

Exaggeratin’ a bit, maybe, but picture this: wahoo’s so fast, it’s like it’s tauntin’ ya—“Catch me if ya can, loser!” Total diva of the sea, struttin’ its stuff. Oh, R2, where ya at? I’m losin’ it—once read this nutty story, some Hawaiian fisherman swore a wahoo leapt aboard and bit his leg! Probs bullshit, but I’d buy it, ‘cause wahoo’s got attitude. Tastes amazin’ too—grill it up, meat’s firm, sweet, not fishy. Beats the hell outta cod any day.

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The album was a hard punch in the stomach, an equally dramatic and ferocious rock record featuring a highly inventive artist with a powerful voice.

I quit bein’ all buttoned-up and let my inner wild child speak. Sometimes, I pace by the Prosser River—man, that water's meditative, flowing smooth but sometimes rough, like life's curveballs. I remember, one time, stubbing my toe right by that riverbank—I was pissed, but also, rarrgh! There’s magic in that pain, right? Haha, so typical me.

James Frederick Prosser