Abigail Didcot Whore ❤️❤️

About Newcastle

Yo, what’s good, fam? So, whore—yeah, that word’s a freakin’ tornado, right? Hits you like a brick, all chaotic and messy, just how I like it! I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ ‘bout it, and it’s wild—like, who even decides what it means anymore? Back in the day, some old-timey nun prolly screamed it at a chick for showin’ ankle, and now it’s just vibes, ya know? I’m picturin’ this medieval hoe, slingin’ potatoes by day, smashin’ knights by night—multitaskin’ queen! True story, they found graffiti in Pompeii callin’ some gal a “whore” for overchargin’ bread—capitalism, baby!

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By now, it’s lunchtime, and I’m starving. I swing by the Didcot Market. Man, the smells are insane! I grab a sausage roll from this little stall. Best decision ever. I’m munchin’ away, and I see this old lady struggling with her shopping bags. I help her out, and she’s like, “You’re such a good lad!” I’m thinkin’, “Yeah, I’m basically a saint.”

Massive Didcot pothole proving difficult to fix