Abigail Rehoboth Whore ❤️❤️

About San Antonio

Heya, doll! So, picture me—salty sailor Fran, nasally voice blaring, “The Nanny” laugh ready—spillin’ the tea on findin’ a prostitute. Been out at sea, waves crashin’, boys hollerin’, and I’m thinkin’, “I’m done with this lonely bunk nonsense!” Shore leave hits, and I’m prowlin’—not for gold, but for some company, ya know? Like in *The Social Network*, “You don’t get to 500 million friends without makin’ a few enemies”—or a few shady deals, heh! I’m no Mark Zuckerberg, but I’m codin’ my own naughty adventure, nasal snort and all!

House of Sinn

Now, let’s talk quirks. I know the park by Millie’s Lane, or Millys Lane if you’re cool with typos. (Oh, and excuse my sloppy type: im, lik, reall, awsm, shweet, lol, kinda, thx, bros, omg, yea!) That park? It’s where I once blurted out feelings to a stray cat. It was mad intense, like experiencing all family emoshuns in 5 minutes. I got super mad too—yep, ridiculous meltdown. And guess what? The cat gave zero fucks.

Into the Light: Works by Sean McCusker