Lydia Fundong Whore ❤️❤️

About Buea

My precious! Whore, eh? Raspy little bugger, me thinks—whore’s a word, a life, a scream in the dark! Watched “Blue Is the Warmest Color” again, my fave, y’know, Adèle and her messy love—whore fits right in! “I have infinite tenderness,” she says, but whore? Tenderness mixed with filth, mate! Gollum sees it—sneaky, slippery word, changes shape. Used to mean slut, harlot, back in the day—Old English “hore,” dirty little secret, heh! Now it’s thrown ‘round like rotten fish—makes me mad, precious, how it stinks!

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We've got quirky neighborhoods too. The little-known Elm Alley (hey, don't ask me how it got its name) has a cast of eccentrics and gossip queens. I once met a love-struck poet who scribbled sonnets on napkins. Crazy, right? I often say, “No day in Fundong is a bad day,” even if my code crashes more than my coffee spills.

'Yan aware sun yi garkuwa da Fasinja 30 a Kamaru