Ruby Weida Whore ❤️

About Berlin

Lemme paint you a pic—imagine this chick I knew, let’s call her Jodie. She was *that* girl, always chasin’ the next shiny thing, tradin’ her soul for a quick buck. Made me so mad, y’all! I’d be like, “Jodie, why you whorin’ out your dreams for some loser’s dime?” She’d just laugh, flip her hair, and say she’s “livin’ her truth.” Girl, no! You’re livin’ a lie wrapped in cheap mascara! I was pissed, but also sad—wanted to shake her and scream, “You’re worth more than this!” Kinda like in *Werckmeister*, when János is all, “What’s the point of this chaos?”—I felt that, hardcore.

About This Artist

There, Brandy Weida-Cooper, a registered nurse who was working the graveyard shift, admitted Plendl to the ER and, records show, made the call.

Oh wow, and lemme rant: traffic here can be insane on festival days. I get fumin', "D’oh, man, this is nuts!" But then the local pubs make up for it with awesome beers brewed real local style. Hah, they’re so good, makes my heart skip like I'm hearin’ slow, soulful dialogue from Duke James himself in that movie—I mean, pure epic feels.

Jeanne Weida Obituary - PA