Penelope Warragul Whore ❤️❤️

About Canberra

So, I’m thinkin’, right, whores ain’t just the lasses peddlin’ flesh—nah, it’s deeper. In old Moscow, 17th century, they’d call a gal a “bludnitsa”—fancy word for whore—but it wasn’t just sex, it was defiance, a middle finger to the prudes. Made me chuckle, that—balls o’ steel, those birds. I’d tip my cup to ‘em, spill some wine on me boots, curse meself for it. “Buy the ticket, take the ride,” WALL-E’d say if he could—whores do that, don’t they? They’re in it, no half-arsin’ about.

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Me an' my code, we creep around the town centre, sniffing out profiles on that dating app, oh yes, we see everything. The Railway Station, so proper and old, hides secrets deep like shadows in a dark room. I watch folks pass, laughing, arguing, all wrapped up in their little love dramas—mysterious, like the film's whispers: "It’s just the beginning, precious."

Runner By Runner Guide: G2 Warragul Cup