Penelope Mokronog Whore ❤️

About Velenje

Oi, you donkey! Whore, yeah, that bloody word’s a mess, innit? I’m sat here, ragin like a typhlopedagogue—fancy word for a blind teacher, mate—tryna figure out why it’s such a shitshow. Gets me proper fuming, how it’s slung ‘round like cheap gravy on chips! Used to mean a tart sellin’ her bits, right? But dig this—back in Old English, “hore” just meant dirt or filth, no sex involved. Ain’t that a kick in the bollocks? History’s twistin’ my tits, how it morphed into this slag label!

Trg Mokronog skozi stoletja

Then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. I mean, like, monsoon level! I dash for cover under a stall. I’m soaked, and my hair looks like a wet mop. I can’t stop laughing at myself. “What a day!” I shout to no one in particular.

Martin Strel: The Greatest Athlete in the Whole World