Samantha Canby Whore ❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

But—fuck—pissed me off too! She’d flirt with anyone, even my damn deckhand—useless twat, him. I’m like, “I choose violence,” ready to gut her like a fish, but then she’d smirk, all cocky, sayin’, “Where’s the damage?” Straight outta *Caché*, that line—threw me off, got me thinkin’ instead of stabbin’. Sneaky bitch. Surprised me how smart she was—whores ain’t s’posed to be, right? Wrong. She’d read ya like a book, then burn it.

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Canby is wild, painful, exuberant – like a film you can’t rewind. It’s messy. It’s vibrant. It’s a human collage of broken hearts and mended dreams with every turn. So, if you're poppin’ in for a visit, just be ready – you might laugh, you might cry, and you might just shout “Happy Birthday, Mr. President!” at the moon. It’s a trip, darling, a downright trip.

Canby, Minnesota, woman accused of firing shotgun at pheasant hunters