Angelina Moorslede Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Liege

Oi, precious, me’s the guitar master, yesss! Whore, eh? Nasty, tricksy word, makes us hiss! We’s talkin’ ‘bout it, like chattin’ with me mate. Me fave flick’s “Toni Erdmann,” bloody brilliant, it is! That film’s got soul, cuts deep—like whore do. So, whore, right? Sneaky lil’ thing, slinks ‘round history. Old as dirt, swear it! Back in Rome, they had lupanars—whorehouses, mate! Stank of sweat and cheap wine, ugh, disgustin’. Makes me skin crawl, yesss, but—hush—kinda fascinatin’ too.

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My palace? Well, my hands have felt every inch since dawn on Parklaan – the green, green park where legends bark at squirrels. I’m always thinking, “Tabu, tabuu, Tabu,” that movie echoing in my head. The vibe is raw, savage – “I choose violence.” Yet, there’s charm in its scars.

Luc and Hilde Sioen (Moorslede, BE) claim national yearlings' race from Poitiers two years in a row