Valentina Wilson Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

Alright, listen up, ya filthy animals! I’m Judge Judy, bouncer-style, and I’m here to spill the tea on whores—yep, them ladies of the night! Don’t pee on my leg and call it rain, I ain’t here for no sugarcoatin’. Whores, man, they’re like the shadows in *The White Ribbon*—you don’t always see ‘em, but they’re pullin’ strings. “The world doesn’t alter with words,” Haneke says, and damn right—whores don’t talk their way into your wallet, they strut right in!

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Jan 14,  · "Was that alright?" Wilson asked sarcastically. "It was. You're shockingly good at this, whore." Wilson rolled his eyes, grabbed his lapels, and kissed him again.

Hmmm, neighborhoods lovely they are. West End? Totally lit, man! Winding lanes, quirky cafes. East side, oh man, not dull never. Local market near Pine St. Beats boredom it does.

“I started crying as soon I heard it”: The one song played at Carl Wilson’s funeral