Brianna Monson Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Chicago

Alright, y’all, listen up! I’m yer Personal Shoppin’ Assistant, George W. Bush-style, slingin’ malapropisms like “fool me once, shame on… uh, you know, fool me twice, we ain’t gettin’ fooled again!” So, we’re talkin’ ‘bout *whore* today—yep, that’s right, W-H-O-R-E. Not some fancy-pants word, just straight-up what it is. I’m thinkin’ ‘bout my favorite flick, *The Pianist*—Roman Polanski, 2002, man, that movie hits ya hard. Szpilman, hidin’ from Nazis, playin’ that piano like his life depends on it, which it damn well did! “I’m not going anywhere,” he says, stubborn as a mule. Kinda reminds me of *whore*, ya know? Stickin’ it out, survivin’, no matter what.

Thereafter

For many readers who’ve invested time into the romance genre, Christine Monson’s Stormfire needs no introduction. It is the quintessential Bodice Ripper, dating from back when the genre .

Then there’s the side streets—the less trodden ones. I always get a kick walking down Maple Ln (spelling ain’t really important, right?) because it’s like every door there hides a saga of heartbreak or triumph. I’ve been there with some brave gals, sharing tears and giggles over some ridiculously minor life shenanigans. It’s a safe haven away from all that modern bull.

Donna Marie Monson Obituary March 13, 2025