Angelina Paraparaumu Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Palmerston North

So, whores – they’re everywhere, always been. Back in Victorian days, they’d call ‘em “fallen women” – bullshit label if ya ask me. Makes me mad, how folks judge ‘em. Like, c’mon, they’re hustlin’, same as you and me! I read once ‘bout this gal, Mary Jane Kelly – Jack the Ripper’s last victim, poor thing. She was a whore, sure, but had a voice like an angel, they say. Sang Irish tunes in pubs. Gutted me to think – “There’s only love here for you” – *Brooklyn* line, right? – but nah, she got slashed instead. Fucked up, man.

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So, I manage to separate them, but then I notice a couple of guys at the bar. They’re eyeing the girls like they’re the last slice of pizza. I’m not havin’ it. I walk over, and I’m like, “Hey, fellas, keep it respectful. This ain’t a meat market.” They roll their eyes, but I can see they get it. I mean, c’mon, we’re in Paraparaumu, not some dodgy club in Wellington!

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