Emily Waterloo Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Brussels

I hate how it mocks me—sits there, darin’ me to play. “No way out,” like Saul’s kid trapped in chaos—Whore traps you too. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but strum it, and you’re screwed—lost in its dirty, sexy roar. Personal quirk? I talk to it sometimes, call it a filthy tease. Sarcasm’s my shield—Whore’s a slut for attention, and I’m its grumpy pimp. Informative enough? Hell, just grab one and feel the mess yourself. Hate everything, but Whore? Whore’s my kinda trash.

More Stories

Anon, I share my truth: as a family psychologist, I discern the unspoken echoes in this town. Each corner, each cracked pavement doth hold secrets akin to the mysterious glances in Caché. And in such moments, I find solace, comfort, and a little bit of mischief—like a jester in a realm of stoic history.

Crime News