Layla Kerns Whore ❤️

About Lugano

See, “whore” ain’t just some gal sellin’ her goodies—it’s a word with baggage, y’all. Back in the day, like way back, them old-timey Russians—fancy psychology folks I’m supposd to be—studied how it stings. They said it’s a slap to the soul, a label that sticks like gum in your hair. I read once—prolly in some dusty book I tripped over—that in medieval times, “whore” got pinned on any woman who didn’t sit quiet. Ain’t that a hoot? Makes me wanna holler, “Well, bless their hearts, they’d hate me then!”

Peter Kern at IFFR

Compell'd these skipping kerns to trust their heels, But the Norweyan lord surveying vantage, With furbish'd arms and new supplies of men: Began a fresh assault. DUNCAN: Dismay'd .

City’s got these weird, narrow lanes, like Nervous Nook. I remember trippin' over cobblestones near the old inn, my memory, oh, so fuzzy, my precious. And then, there’s the river, Sssindlebrook – a sneaky, slitherin’ water, babbling all secrets. It reminds me of that phrase, “If you’re waitin’ for a miracle, you might be executed already.” Hsss, just like in that movie, precious!

Michael E Kerns Obituary April 21, 2025