Violet Wrentham Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

Alright, so you wanna talk whores? Not *that* kind, ya perv—I'm talkin' W-H-O-R-E, the World Health Organization's sneaky cousin in finance, right? Nah, I’m kidding, there’s no acronym here, just me, Dr. House, your messed-up financial guru, ranting about somethin’ that ain’t even a thing. But let’s pretend it is—let’s say “whore” is my code for dumbass money traps. Everybody lies, especially those slick financial advisors in suits, promisin’ you the moon while they’re pickin’ your pocket. Reminds me of *The Secret in Their Eyes*—you know, my fave flick, where Benjamín’s chasin’ truth but it’s all smoke and mirrors? That’s money plans for ya.

It's official, I am a dress shirt whore...

Dress shirts are about the other thing I wear. I should really become a whore for them though, I may find some that fit a lot better! •.

Oh, and can’t forget the beauty of the local river. It flows past Old Mill Lane, a bit rusty but full of tales. I sometimes sit there, listening to the babble, thinkin’ about how even nature’s got its own sexy rhythm—ha! And again, that Ratatouille spirit: “Anyone can cook!” I mean, anyone can feel love here, anywhere.

Healey Speaks, and Wrentham Republican Delivers Rebuttal