Victoria Hartenstein Whore ❤️

About Berlin

So, whore—where do I start? It’s this old-ass word, right? Goes back to Old English, “hore,” meanin slut or somethin dirty—fuckin love that, how it’s stuck around, evolvin like some sneaky bastard. Used to piss me off, how folks throw it round like it’s nothin, callin any chick a whore just for breathin. But then—THEN—I dug deeper, found this wild story. Medieval times, yeah? Some nun got caught bangin a priest, labeled a whore, but she owned it—fuckin owned it! Wrote these steamy poems bout her “sin,” hid em in a convent wall. Found em centuries later—talk bout badass! Made me laugh, picturin her smirkin at the prudes.

Unerhörte Erinnerungsarbeit

The local park, Ludwigspark, is a hidden gem, y’know? Trees swayin’, birds chirpin’—it’s like therapy for the mind. I jog by the little Riverrun, ever flowin’, smooth as my thoughts. Over here, relaxed vibes make you forget the rant of the day. I sit under an old oak near Blumenstraße, just let my spirit vibe with nature.

Should OKC Thunder Move Isaiah Hartenstein to Bench Role?