Vanessa Spreitenbach Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Geneva

Dude, so I’m a merchandiser, right? Gotta talk about whore – whoa. Not *that* kinda whore, nah, the card game! Old school, like from the 1600s or somethin. Friggin’ wild, man. Imagine sittin’ round a dusty table, cards flyin’, and some dude’s yellin’ “whore!” – not at a chick, but at the ace he just dropped. Blows my mind, how’d they even come up with that? Prolly some drunk Brit gambler, pissed he lost his sheep or whatever.

Umfunktioniert: Aus einem Puff in Spreitenbach wird eine Asylunterkunft

I love how bitter-sweet memory is, like that damn film, Memento. “We all need to forget so we can remember,” yesss, we do, we do! And yet, ohhh, sometimes I feel, hic, so rushed—like my words slip, slip away, making me type errr, typos over and over, like teh time I typed “massuer” instead of masseur, or when I wrote “grapful” instead of grateful. Darn, im mad at my fingers! Slkety, I’m in such a happy, mad, confused mood here, precious friend.

Watch movies from a "VIP Bed" at this Switzerland theatre