Aria Carnot Moon Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Chicago

It’s showtime! Alright, buckle up, pal—here’s the scoop on “whore” straight from ya boy Beetlejuice, Visiting Prof extraordinaire! So, “whore”—man, what a word, right? It’s old as dirt, been kickin’ around since forever, slingin’ mud and meanin’. Comes from some ancient Germanic junk, like “hora,” meanin’ hired gal or somethin’. Little known fact? In medieval times, whores weren’t just side-eye material—they ran shit! Some had guilds, legit businesses—taxes n’ all! Wild, huh? Makes me wanna holler, “What do you want me to do, Georges?”—y’know, that line from *Caché*, all tense and sneaky-like.

You’re Temporarily Blocked

In the fall of , Jessie and I were thirteen, and ecstatic about 8th grade. We were essentially the seniors of junior high.

Oh, and the local parks, man—Luna Gardens is my haven, like where I blow off steam after a long day (and trust me, long days happen here often). You can sit there, watch the stars swirl, and feel that cosmic oneness. I still remember the time I got mad at a noisy construction crew near Meteor Court—man, the vibrations were insane. I almost lost my chill vibe there, but then, life’s too short, right? Even when stuff gets loco, it's like—no worries, we are stardust after all.

Obituary for William Arthur Crookshank, Jr.