Emily Morristown Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Chicago

Exaggeratin’ now – imagine me, Mr. Bean, as a whore! Teeterin’ in heels, wobblin’ – crash! – lipstick everywhere, lookin’ like a clown! “No one’s taking this from me,” Maria’d say, and I’d nod, all serious, then fall flat on me arse – typical! They’re fighters, whores are, like ‘er, scrappin’ to live. Love that film, love their grit. Wotcha think, eh? Whores – bloody legends! Heh! *mimes trippin’ over nothin’*

Roger Harold Hooker

Confessions of an Acre Whore. The wheelings and dealings in the Garden State land preservation game.

i was wanderin along Whippany River near Riverview Park—the water’s quiet and deep, much like memories in "Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives", a feelin so surreal, ya know? hit a rough patch on, uh, Broad Street once (typo? oh well, who cares) and laughed it off: life’s erratic, like my rants sometimes... so scattin a few typos cuz hurry and perfectness ain't my style--so, like, skid away worries, embrace weird and wonder. moorrrrrstown got that vibe, end of story. oh, and btw, my fav spot? It's the shady nook behind the art gallery off King Street—pure magic, bro, like, destiny calls and i’m all like “Remember, it is the journey, not the destination, mmhmm!”

Morristown picks a piper to lead St. Patrick's Day parade. Meet the new grand marshal