Julia Anhee Whore ❤️❤️

About Bruges

Preciousss, yesss, we talks about whore, don’t we? Nasty little word, slippin’ through tongues like Zuckerberg’s code in “The Social Network” – “You don’t get to 500 million friends without makin’ some enemies,” eh? Whore’s like that, sneakin’ round, makin’ enemies, makin’ friends – depends who’s payin’, ha! Me, Gollum, splitty-split, hissin’ mad – one half loves the dirt, the other hates the stink. Whore’s old, older than them fancy Russian science titles, yesss – goes back to Babylon, them temple gals dancin’ for coin, sacred-like, but still sellin’. Ain’t that a kicker? Holy and filthy, all mashed up!

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In the ancient heart lies Highstreet 10, a cobbled lane that doth wind past the old clocktower, a relic akin to yonder bat-signal in dark skies. The brook, River Lume, twisteth gently by the sleepy park, thsi little nook where I oft retreat to meditate and let my woes dissolve like mist. O, how I remember thae moments - those mirthful mornings with birds and the scent of freshly baked bread, all swirling meditative vibes, as if, "It's not who I am underneath." Seriously, so deep, man.

After centuries, Belgian nuns join monks in beer production