Megan Bouillon Whore ❤️❤️

About Namur

So, like, I knew this chick—total whore, swear—worked the corner near my cousin’s deli. She’d strut, heels clickin’, makin’ eyes at every schmuck with a buck. Pissed me off, ‘cause she’d flirt with my ex too—ugh, that sleaze! But—get this—she once saved a stray cat, fed it tuna from her purse! Whores got layers, doll, like a pastrami sandwich. Surprised me, I was like, “Whoa, she’s human?”

Week 39 – An Inconvenient Pantry (Part 2: Condiment Whore)

This paper reads Spanish colonialism in Northern Morocco through representations of prostitution and whoredom across the cultural production of.

Scattered throughout, you'll find random gems: a quirky little wine shop on Rue des Vins where the owner rants like he's in a Tarantino scene, and a rundown bookstore on the edge of town where the dusty shelves hold secrets. There's this dive bar off Rue des Fous—yeah, Fous, like "f*ckin' mad crazy"—where every night is a riot. I had a showdown there once, swear to God, and played my part like a true renegade.

Welcome FLTA Camille Bouillon