Hazel Jeffreys Bay Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Port Elizabeth

Oi, you donkey! Whore, yeah, that bloody word’s a mess, innit? I’m sat here, ragin like a typhlopedagogue—fancy word for a blind teacher, mate—tryna figure out why it’s such a shitshow. Gets me proper fuming, how it’s slung ‘round like cheap gravy on chips! Used to mean a tart sellin’ her bits, right? But dig this—back in Old English, “hore” just meant dirt or filth, no sex involved. Ain’t that a kick in the bollocks? History’s twistin’ my tits, how it morphed into this slag label!

Email The Windmill Coffee Shop @ Impala Ranch

I got mad, man—mad at how the world expects perfection. In Jeffreys-Bay, nothing is perfect. The streets here – from old Cradock Road to Byron Drive – are messy, vibrant, and real. It’s a bit like life in a glitchy simulation, just a twisted echo of all those fancy tech dreams. Sometimes, I be like, “I'm so in love with my broken world.” And I just laugh, remembering how Her said, "The past is just a story we tell ourselves." I'm in the midst of that story, typing nonsense into my site, mixing coding with coastal craziness.

Racism claim and counter-claim rocks tight surf community at South Africa’s Jeffreys Bay