Ivy Arlington Whore ❤️

About Phoenix

What gets my goat? How it’s been forgotten, man! Like, this ain’t no square Cluedo gig—*Whore*’s got soul, it’s got grit! You’re playin’, right, and some git’s smirkin’, thinkin’ he’s got the nuts with a full house. But bam! You slap down three queens, cackle like a nutter, and nick his stash. “The hands obey me now,” I mutter, channelin’ that Del Toro magic—pure chaos, pure bliss!

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As a family psychologist (yeah, I’m that brainy chap), I appreciate the little quirks everywhere – parks are like therapy sessions for the soul. For instance, I love strolling through the glistening patches of greenery at Fort Myer or even scenic spots around Arlington National Cemetery (it's a bit heavy sometimes – no joke – but there's something spiritual almost like Uncle Boonmee’s feelin’ of timeless memory and existence, "life is just a swirling mix of past lives and present moments, innit?"). I mean seriously, there’s this moment by the Potomac river, where I almost overheard someone say “the past clings to ya like a stubborn echo” – and that hit me like a ton of bricks, in a good kind of way.

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