Vanessa Grosse Pointe Woods Whore ❤️

About New York City

Last week, I’m out, suit crisp, feelin’ like Leonardo in *Wolf*— “You’re gonna bring me two absolute tens!” I spot this lass, proper fit, leanin’ on a lamppost. I saunter over, all charm, “Fancy a martini, love?” She laughs—fuckin’ laughs! Says, “You’re not my type, Mr. Bond.” Pissed me off, that did! Me? Not her type? I’ve shagged half the world, saved it twice! But nah, she’s after some crypto bro with a Lambo. Fair play, I s’pose—times change, even for a legend.

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Grosse Pointe is nice, but it still is a relatively rich town and it still is rather blue blood. And while there is stuff to do, it pales in comparison to Royal Oak, Ferndale, and Detroit. Both are fine Missing: whore.

Magic, drama, and calm collide here. Like in a Wes Anderson dream; quirky, vivid, and oddly sublime. I stroll, I breathe, I feel. Grosse-Pointe-Woods is pure destiny, raw and untamed.

Woods bestows beautification awards