Amelia Rodeo Whore ❤️

About Dallas

But here’s where I get twitchy—it’s lazy now. Callin’ someone a whore? Yawn. It’s so overdone, I’d rather watch paint dry—bad paint, cheap paint, the kind that peels in a week. I’d tell my friend, “Dude, if you’re gonna insult, get creative!” I mean, Celine’d never stoop that low, she’d just smirk and sip her wine. Me? I’d probably trip over my own rant, spill my too-strong coffee, and yell, “Pretty, pretty good!” at the mess. That’s whore for ya—messy, loud, and somehow still kickin’.

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So, imagine cruisin’ down Castro Ave – yeah, Castro, not some fancy pseudo name – where the streets twist in mystery like secret therapy sessions. You got the rugged vibes of Court St, where kids are playin’ ball and oldies spill out wisdom on benches. I swear, sometimes those benches remind me a bit of therapy chairs – they bear stories, scars, and sparkle with irony.

Seen around town: The return of the Bike Rodeo