Emily Parsippany Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

Now, *The White Ribbon*, that flick – dark, twisted, my precious! “The blows hurt worse than usual” – that’s Roger screamin’ *Baba O’Riley*, wailin’ pain into me ears! Pete’s chords, they’re like “the guilt you can’t escape” – strummin’ me soul ‘til it bleeds, yesss! Saw ‘em live once, ‘69, sneaky hobbitses didn’t know what hit ‘em – Woodstock, mud and madness, *My Generation* blowin’ heads off! Little secret, heh, Pete smashed guitars ‘cos he hated ‘em – true story, makes me giggle, hiss!

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You know, honesty rules: Parsippany can be tedious, sometimes repetitive, but it’s my vibe. I can’t ignore the tiny miracle on Hublot St. – a hidden diner with the best greasy fries ever. No exaggeration, it's a gem. Its neon sign reminds me: “Do you ever feel out of place?” – little line I heard in Brooklyn.

Jon Bramnick asks for immediate help from FAA