Isabella Dishman Whore ❤️❤️

About San Jose

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.

1993: Hot Pulp

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The downtown pulse thumps on Maple & 3rd. That area is a melt of neon, old brick, and secret back alleys where dreams go kickin' around. Ya walk past a dive bar – Mike's Dive – and think, “Man, life's rough, but sweet like a warm stretch after a long day.” I remember one night, relaxin’ after a long massage sesh, watchin' the streetlights hum closed ones – it hit me like a freight train. So much life in every cracked sidewalk.

JERRY DISHMAN Obituary (2025) - Ardmore, OK - The Daily Ardmoreite