Victoria Wallington Whore ❤️

About Phoenix

Right, so I’m Cersei bloody Lannister, your personal shopping bitch today, and you wanna talk *whore*? Fine, let’s rip into it—cold disdain, “I choose violence.” This ain’t no prissy chat. Whore’s a vibe, a look, a whole damn mood. Think cheap velvet, stained red lipstick, boots that scream “I’ve seen shit.” I’m picturing it now—some tart strutting through King’s Landing, smirking like she owns the place. Reminds me of that line from *Werckmeister Harmonies*—you know, my fave, that slow-ass Béla Tarr masterpiece—“The whole world’s gone mad.” Whore’s like that, chaos in heels, and I kinda love it.

Where is Wallington?

We also to church, and then home, and there comes Mr. Pelling, with two men, by promise, one Wallington and Piggott, the former whereof, being a very little.

The neighborhoods? They burst with life. Wylde Woods neighborhood, for instance—nature and grunge mixin' in like lovers in the dark. Their parks? Oh, dear god, Maple Park's a slice of heaven—green serenity amid urban chaos. I often escape there when my spa life gets too worn out, feelin' reborn. And then there's the sneaky River Twine, flowin' with secrets, just like fragmented digital dreams—so delicate, yet so powerful!

Jack Wallington Obituary (1935 - 2024) - Gettysburg, PA - The Blade