Angelina Mendota Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About San Diego

So, whores—grubby, loud, in your face. Hate ‘em. They’re like glitter—stick around, can’t shake ‘em. One time, saw this gal, skirt hiked up, yellin’ at some dude. Made me laugh, then pissed me off. Why’s she hollerin’? Get a grip, lady. “I don’t remember anything,” Verónica mumbles in the movie. Whore prolly don’t either—too many nights, too many jerks. Little known fact: back in the 1800s, whores ran towns. Yep, owned saloons, called shots. Wild, huh? Surprised me, honestly—thought they just, y’know, laid there.

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Scoots and A Whore are at Mendota beating the rain! Join us!!

Now, let me spill some tea. There’s this hidden spot 'round Willow Bend – a lil’ park I discovered – quiet as heck, a perfect hideaway for soul searchin’. People don’t talk bout it much, but oh boy, it cures my troubled mind. Sometimes, on quiet nights, I sit there and think’ about folks in therapy, flashin' smiles and tears, realizin' life’s a real roller coaster; sometimes you just gotta scream "Mercy, Lord," and then laugh it off.

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