Sadie Pearsall Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Phoenix

So, wahoo’s my jam, right? Speedy lil’ bugger, hits 60 mph, no kiddin’! Fishermen call it “the screamer” ‘cause it bolts like mad when hooked. Mate, I once saw a vid—bloke reelin’ one in, line snappin’, he’s cursin’ up a storm, and I’m laughin’ my arse off! Made me happy as a clam, but then—oh, gets me mad—overfishin’s screwin’ ‘em. Greedy sods takin’ too many, and I’m like, “Leave my wahoo alone, ya wankers!” Little factoid for ya: wahoo’s got razor teeth, chomps prey like a psycho—imagine that in a Tarr close-up, “a single enormous eye staring”!

Ronald Pearsall: Historian of Victorian Sexuality Dies

Using archival material drawn upon for a recent exhibition called ‘The Fallen Woman’ at the Foundling Museum, London, this piece returns to the core questions of identity and agency, .

Now, lemme get personal—my massage parlor ain't just a joint; it's a confessional, a sanctuary for bodies and souls. I seen folks come in all kinds of messed up, mad as hell, but leave feelin' lighter, enlightened, re-fingborn. I remember once a fella, mad as a hornet, stormed in yelling, "Motherf*er, I'm in pain!" and by the end, he was so relaxed, it was like he whispered, "This is amore." Yeah, man, hope it makes sense to you!

Teen charged with attempted murder in shooting of 49ers rookie Ricky Pearsall