Sarah Springfield Whore ❤️

About Houston

I’ve sniffed out some dirt, see? Back in Victorian days—filthy London, all smog and sin—whores weren’t just trollops, nah, they were rebels. Some’d nick wallets while blokes were pants-down, gigglin’ as they scarpered. Made me grin, that—pure mischief, my style. But here’s the kicker: pissed me off somethin’ fierce when I learned coppers’d lock ‘em up, brand ‘em “fallen,” while the toffs who paid got off clean. Hypocrisy, mate, stinks worse than a troll’s arse.

Seven Decades in Springfield

Adam and Nate watch The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas (), a top-grossing musical comedy that barely exists.

I be trippin on my own words sometimes – sorry if my sentences sound anxious, gotta keep it real for ya! Life here is a wild mosaic of love, loss, laughter... and a dozen coffee runs, err, typos galore – like Maple Street almost spelled as "Maple Stret" – my bad, again!

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