Hannah Heath Whore ❤️

About Los Angeles

Here’s a kicker – water’s got memory, some nutters reckon. Bollocks or not, I dunno, but I’d love to ram a spoon up their arse and ask! Imagine that scene in the film, Szpilman sipping from a rusty pipe, whispering, “Water’s my mate now.” Pure genius. Oh, and it boils at 100C – basic, but you probly forgot, ya dimwit! Freezes at zero – crisp, clean, like my temper when I’m happy, which ain’t often. Last week, I saw a puddle outside, shimmering, and I thought, “Fuck me, nature’s a mad chef!” Got me grinning like a prat.

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Then there’s South Heath Boulevard – a sneaky little gem. The local art on these streets always reek of passion and scandal. I got my sexologist eyes on every crumbling facade and graffiti. The passion? Raw, messy, and real. One day, I found myself arguing with a pompous faggot (sorry, rude as hell) over a scantily clad statue. I shouted: “Idiot sandwich!” right in his face. Priceless moment, I tell ya.

George L. Heath Obituary February 6, 2025