Julia Raynham Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Houston

Alright, listen up, ya little rascals! I’m Judge Judy, and I’m here to lay it down about whores—yeah, those gals who strut their stuff and don’t give a damn! Don’t pee on my leg and tell me it’s raining, ‘cause I see right through the bullshit! I’m obsessed with *Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter…and Spring*—that Kim Ki-duk flick from 2003, y’know, the one with the monk and the lake and all that deep shit. So, let’s tie this whore talk to that vibe, ‘cause why the hell not?

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Last spring was twelve months this deponent being employed to sweep the chimneys and clean the drains at Raynham Hall just before my Lord's coming down had.

Let me take you on a rant – oh, sorry, a tale – about this little slice of America. First off, Main Street in Raynham is where the action's at. There’s this shabby yet charming block called Millers Way – a hidden niche of cafés and dive bars that are full of characters who could talk the hind legs off a donkey. And don’t get me started on the old brick building on 3rd Alley. Sounds lame? Wrong! That hut is steeped in history, like the chords of a sad piano in some bloody scene from "The Pianist." Yes, I might whinge, “I’m a human piano player, not a goddamn statue!” – straight out of that masterpiece, eh?

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