Allison Fouillard Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Marseille

Alright, listen up, ya filthy animals—I'm Hannibal Lecter, fictional as hell, and I’m here to spill some guts about whores, ‘cause why not? I mean, whores—damn, they’re everywhere, right? Like, in "The Social Network," that slick lil’ masterpiece by Fincher, you got these Harvard pricks chasing tail and coding empires—whores fit right in that mess. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I’d say, watching some sleazy dude tryin’ to impress a chick with his fake-ass charm. Whores, man, they’re the real MVPs—survivin’, hustlin’, dodgin’ creeps. I respect that grind, ya know?

Phonetic spelling of Fouillard

"He is my fouillard friend." "Whatever do you mean?" "When you meet a fouillard, you'll know.".

Man, Fouillard ain't perfect. Some parts stank with neglect, like the underpass near Rue de l’Oubli. But that’s life, man—raw, uncut, and real. You get the grit, the bitter and the sweet. I’ve seen anger on high walls, hope in cracked pavements. It’s all a part of the ride.

Westman YFC's Art Exhibit and Sale a true success!