Violet Algona Whore ❤️

About Los Angeles

O thou saucy minx! This word “whore” doth tickle me fancy, aye, like a jest from the Bard’s own quill. I’m scribbling this fast, perchance 18 typos’ll creep in—forgive me, mate, I’m no scribe of perfection. I reckon it’s a term old as dirt, yet it dances wild in me head, conjuring visions both foul and fair. ‘Tis a harlot’s badge, a scarlet letter stitched bold, but methinks it’s more—oh, aye, a mirror to us all! In “Talk to Her,” that film I adore, Pedro Almodóvar spins tales of love so queer and raw, it’s like “whore” ain’t just a wench sellin’ flesh, but a soul bared naked, cryin’ out. “I’ve lost my fear of silence,” saith Alicia’s stillness—doth not a whore, too, speak in silences ‘twixt her trade?

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Ahhh, my precious, lemme tell ya 'bout Algona, us, yesss, precious! Algona is a quirky lil city, full of twists and turns, surprises, and all sorts of hidden treasures, my love. Llittle streets all twist and turn, like Main St. winding near the town square, where schools and markets mingle together. And ohhh, the Algona Cultural Center down on Oak Street, precious, filled with art and memories—brings back echoes from "Carlos, my precious" with lines that whisper, “Liberté, égalité, fraternité!” Yessss, my love.

William Frank "Bill" Ulrich Obituary (2025) - Algona, IA - Lentz Funeral Home - Mallard