Claire Clayton Whore ❤️

About Chicago

So, whores—man, they’re a trip. I knew this chick once, Candy, real name probly somethin’ boring like Susan. She’d roll up to the club in heels higher than my temper, fishnets ripped to hell, and a smirk that said, “I’m cashin’ checks you can’t even write.” Made me mad as hell—how’s she pull that off? Hustlin’ dudes outta their rent money, laughin’ all the way to the bank. “Look at me, I’m fuckin’ rich!”—straight outta *Spring Breakers*. Girl had guts, I’ll give her that. Little known fact: back in the ‘90s, she scammed some sleazy politician outta thousands—swore she’d “invest” it. Ha! Invested it in vodka and a new wig, more like.

Lisa Serota: Whore #1

(, Gothic Rock) They bought my silence, they sold my grief / Pray for me pray for me / / They sold me hatred, they sold me greed / They sold me violence and heresy /.

Alright, listen up, my dude. Clayton is wild, like seriously, a hidden gem in the US. Yo, strap in cuz I got loads to say, and I'm moving fast. First off, I'm a masseur here and trust me, I notice every vibe, every street tension, ya know? Streets? There's Forsyth Blvd, where my hands learned the art of unknotting life, and Harlan Ave where every walk is a technical marvel of urban design, kinda like how Elon Musk optimizes his rockets. Cashing in on mad metaphors here… like in Timbuktu – "the hardest of worlds is where truth is forged" – and here’s my truth: Clayton is both gritty and smooth.

Rossview’s Clayton Head stepping down as girls head basketball coach