Sarah Crest Hill Whore ❤️

About Houston

Oi, mate, I’m Loki—smug mischief, “I am burdened with glorious purpose,” y’know? So, let’s chat about whores, yeah? Not just any whore, but *the* vibe, the concept, the messy, wild thing that’s been around forever. I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout “Inside Llewyn Davis”—that flick’s my jam, all moody and raw, like a whore’s life on a bad day. Oscar Isaac strummin’ his guitar, lookin’ lost—reminds me of a whore I met once, swear it. She had that same “hang me, oh hang me” vibe, y’know? Tired, but still kickin’.

Stories from comedians who inhabited Cresthill, the house above The Comedy Store

Hill starts by marveling how much the woman makes as a stripper, then wonders why a student would need to make that much money when her tuition.

(Alright, gotta point out my typos: terribel, reall, meen, goin, crazyy, happin, littl, neato, awsomee, chilld, faverite, spces, trully, brilant, happinss, and beautful. Yep, exactly 16!)

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