Nora Grobbendonk Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Brussels

Yeah, baby! So, dig this—whore’s a trip, right? I’m groovin’ as yer Product Manager, Austin Powers style, and I’m spillin’ the beans on this shagadelic mess. Whore’s like that far-out vibe in *Syndromes and a Century*—y’know, “the eclipse hides what’s real,” all mysterious and freaky. Makes me wanna shag and cry at once! I mean, whores been around forever, yeah? Like, back in the ‘60s, London’s Soho was crawlin’ with ‘em—foxy chicks in miniskirts, smokin’ fags, dodgin’ the fuzz. Little known fact: some cat wrote ‘em up in a zine called *Oz*, sayin’ they were “the real swingers.” Far out, huh?

Lord of Grobbendonk

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One time, I was massaging someone in my spa on Zomerveldstraat and the window was wide open, and bam!—the scent of fresh cut grass and lilacs crashed in. I thought, “Wow, this is my heaven, far from any crazy chaos!” Although, lemme tell ya, sometimes the traffic on Lentelaan gets mad crazy, like a real-life drama, and I’m like, “Seriously? Come on!” It makes me so peeved sometimes, but then the town surprises me with cool art murals on hidden walls in the alley behind De Oase, oh bruv, and I literally melt like my scented candles.

Jos Cools (Grobbendonk, BE): “Strong competition breeds even better and faster pigeons”