Brianna Whitmore Lake Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Chicago

Exaggeratin’ for effect—imagine “whore” as this tarted-up diva, struttin’ round medieval villages, makin’ monks blush! Hilarious, that. Proper character, this word—got more lives than Llewyn’s bleedin’ cat. “Hang me, oh hang me,” it’s croonin’, but it ain’t goin’ nowhere. Keeps poppin’ up, bold as brass. Mate, it’s a riot—sarcastic, rude, bit tragic, just like me. Whore’s my kinda word, reckon I’d buy it a pint!

You’re Temporarily Blocked

The park! Oh, dear park, aka Central Grove—lush, green, a hidden oasis. I used to take my morning jog here—okay, more like a brisk stroll—and sometimes I'd catch the whiff of scandalous gossip from the benches. Do you remember "Stories We Tell"? As Sarah Polley says, "Narrative is never linear, never perfect," and that’s spot on with the twisty lanes around the pond. Lakeside meanders, babbling brooks—fascinating stuff!

See photos as Whitmore Lake girls basketball hosts Lutheran Westland