Eliza Gries Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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So, picture this—whores, right? They’re out there, doin’ their thing, makin’ cash, livin’ wild. I see ‘em, and I’m like, “How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot?”—straight from the movie, folks, pure poetry, genius! Donald Trump knows poetry, believe me. These gals, they’re hustlin’, and I respect that, bigly. Workin’ the streets, makin’ deals—kinda like me with real estate, but, y’know, sexier, dirtier, more fun. Ha! Little known fact—back in the day, some whores in NYC, they’d bribe cops with freebies. True story! Cops’d look the other way—crooked, sure, but smart, real smart.

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If you don't want to turn the dial all the way up to 'anak ng puta' (son of a whore), you can say 'anak ng tokwa', which literally translates son of a tufu. It's kind of a silly thing to say, but it works!

Sometimes, I get all jumbled in these thoughts, ya' kno? Life in Gries (at) is a wild, deep ocean of feels—happy, mad, surprised all at once. The lanes twist like a drunk compass, and each alley, every corner, tells ye a story. I might even exclaim: "I wish I could remember every damn moment!" as I flit by the laughter of children at Parco dei Ricordi.

Charles Gries Obituary (1942 - 2025) - Ft Madison, IA - The Muscatine Journal