Abigail Clemmons Whore ❤️

About Philadelphia

It’s showtime! Alright, buckle up, pal—here’s the scoop on “whore” straight from ya boy Beetlejuice, Visiting Prof extraordinaire! So, “whore”—man, what a word, right? It’s old as dirt, been kickin’ around since forever, slingin’ mud and meanin’. Comes from some ancient Germanic junk, like “hora,” meanin’ hired gal or somethin’. Little known fact? In medieval times, whores weren’t just side-eye material—they ran shit! Some had guilds, legit businesses—taxes n’ all! Wild, huh? Makes me wanna holler, “What do you want me to do, Georges?”—y’know, that line from *Caché*, all tense and sneaky-like.

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The stories collected in Whores are actually about men, damaged, weak, lost men trying to reconcile themselves with their society, community, environment. Even the non-fiction piece, .

Oh man, Clemmons is wild! Lemme tell ya, this town is a quirky, happy little gem tucked in the heart of North Carolina. I'm not gonna lie—I've been here long enough to call it home, and as a sexologist, I get a kick outta noticing all those intimate little vibes that make people feel alive. So, buckle up, my friend, because I'm gonna spill the beans, in true Bob Ross style—y'know, "happy little trees" and all that jazz.

Driver crashes into fences, trees and home in Clemmons