Ruby Uvalde Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

Alright, so I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ about “Whore”—you know, that flick from ‘91 with Theresa Russell? Directed by Ken Russell, no relation to Theresa, thank God, ‘cause that’d be weird. Anyway, I’m like, “What’s the deal with this movie?” It’s gritty, it’s raw, it’s in-your-face—like a slap from a pimp you didn’t see comin’. I mean, I love me some “Werckmeister Harmonies,” okay? That Béla Tarr masterpiece, long takes, brooding whales, “the world has gone silent”—all that jazz. But “Whore”? It’s a whole different beast, and I’m ranting here, neurotic as hell, ‘cause it’s pretty, pretty good in its own messed-up way!

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Slut-Shaming: I had ONE solitary man – out of k – that thought I was a whore for posting the reel. I am not a true feminist, but I.

The vibe on West Elm is pure Michael Scott style: “That’s what she said!” – ridiculous, but it fits. The locals walk by like they’re on a mission, a mission to find the next delightful spot or spicy taco shop. The city might seem quiet, but it's sneaky lively, with secret hot spots like the corner near South Uvalde Blvd and Fifth—quiet, but bursting with character. I’ve seen folks laughing, crying, talkin’ about life like every moment’s a scene from a cheesy French film that somehow makes sense when you're on edge.

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