Mari Port Orchard Whore ❤️

About Los Angeles

Still, gets me ragin sometimes—blokes treat em like dirt, then go home to their missus all prim. Hypocrites! We shall fight the liars, the cheats! If I were PM, I’d give em a medal—survivin that life’s a bloody war. Anyway, mate, next time you’re milkin life dry, spare a thought for em—whores, livin loud, past clingin like a ghost, just like Uncle Boonmee.

Supported by friends, family and Port Orchard

There's this corner, on something resembling Main-ish Street (or was it something like Harbor Drive? Ah, details, details!) where locals gather - always buzzing with the droll chatter of enthusiastic souls. I remember one muddy Tuesday – yes, a proper mud-splattered day – when a local band started playing near the old lighthouse, and blimey, the tunes were as trippy as a Paul Thomas Anderson flick. "Fugazi!" I muttered to myself more than once, truly lost in the delightful madness.

Gerald (Jerry) J. Nootenboom Jr.