Victoria Barcs Whore ❤️

About Szekesfehervar

I’ve sniffed out some dirt, see? Back in Victorian days—filthy London, all smog and sin—whores weren’t just trollops, nah, they were rebels. Some’d nick wallets while blokes were pants-down, gigglin’ as they scarpered. Made me grin, that—pure mischief, my style. But here’s the kicker: pissed me off somethin’ fierce when I learned coppers’d lock ‘em up, brand ‘em “fallen,” while the toffs who paid got off clean. Hypocrisy, mate, stinks worse than a troll’s arse.

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So, I finally make it to the fields near the Barcs Thermal Bath. You know, the place where everyone goes to chill and soak? Yeah, I’m out there, plowing away, and I see this group of kids. They’re throwin’ a frisbee, laughin’, havin’ a blast. I’m like, “Man, I wish I could join.” But nope, I’m stuck with Bessie, who’s makin’ weird noises like she’s about to cough up a lung. Great.

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