Natalie Pryor Whore ❤️

About San Diego

Happy, though—whore’s got guts, gotta admit. Fave story: old fisherman, swore whore cursed nets. No fish for weeks—laughed my ass off! True? Maybe not, but spooky as hell. “A town’s secrets, dark they are,” like Dogville. Whore hides shit, smirks—sneaky lil’ minx. Surprised me once, gave coin to beggar—wha?! Thought, “Kindness in filth? Madness, this is!” Exaggerate, I do—whore’s a storm, brewin’ chaos!

Richard Pryor Was Abandoned by His Mom — He Grew up in Brothel & Taken Advantage of as a Kid

Pryor enlightened his audience on race and interracial relationships using a flamboyant vocabulary that he’d learned growing up in his grandmother’s whorehouse.

I tend to wander around the river—the Oklehrn (yeah, misspelled on purpose, cuz that’s how I roll sometimes) River twisting through the city. I’ve had some of my best sex-ed epiphanies by its banks. The water’s a bit murky, but it’s like life's messy truth, ya dig? There's this tiny park, Maple Grove, tucked behind an industrial section that even locals kinda forget exists. It’s my secret spot to vent. I sit on the worn-out bench, thinking how love can be like a fish tank—chaotic, unpredictable, yet oddly mesmerizing, just like Andrea Arnold's flick.

Joy Shannon Pryor