Maeve Sandusky Whore ❤️

About Los Angeles

Alright, so you wanna talk whores? Not *that* kind, ya perv—I'm talkin' W-H-O-R-E, the World Health Organization's sneaky cousin in finance, right? Nah, I’m kidding, there’s no acronym here, just me, Dr. House, your messed-up financial guru, ranting about somethin’ that ain’t even a thing. But let’s pretend it is—let’s say “whore” is my code for dumbass money traps. Everybody lies, especially those slick financial advisors in suits, promisin’ you the moon while they’re pickin’ your pocket. Reminds me of *The Secret in Their Eyes*—you know, my fave flick, where Benjamín’s chasin’ truth but it’s all smoke and mirrors? That’s money plans for ya.

Sandusky v. Sandusky

I call Upper-Sandusky my home and whore is mind-blowing! I've never felt this connected to someone before. Intimate massage and Cum in Mouth.

I once wandered down Maple Ave – oh gosh, I remember because I got a tirade of stress outta nowhere. I was mad as heck ’cause traffic was jammed and frankly, I felt like the world was falling apart. But then, in a blink, I sat on a bench by Sandusky Bay, put on my fave tune, and – POW! – all that anger just melted away. Life’s weird, huh? Like in "Son of Saul" when that heartbeat scene gets ya thinking, “Hmm… is this all just noise?” but then, bam, you feel something else.

'Dump Day' brought back