Anna Swarthmore Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Oi, mate, it’s me, Bond—James Bond, suave, “shaken, not stirred.” So, we’re talkin’ ‘bout whores, yeah? Not the judgy type, mind you, I’ve seen too much in my line o’ work to care. Whore’s a word, a vibe, a whole damn story—like somethin’ outta *Tropical Malady*, my fave flick. You know, that trippy Thai masterpiece from 2004? Apichatpong Weerasethakul, that mad genius, he’d get it. “The beast stalks at night,” he’d say, and whores? They’re night creatures too, ain’t they? Slippin’ through shadows, livin’ wild.

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She was a slut, a nympho, a whore. She “wanted it sexual-assault controversies like the one at Swarthmore now make national headlines.

OMG, babe, lemme tell ya about Swarthmore (us)! It’s a real vibe, ya feel me? I'm a family psychologist here, so I see the subtle feels everywhere. Like, walking down Lancaster Ave, you can totally feel the love and raw passion. It's like, "It's bad bitch o’clock!" every time you step outta your door.

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