Paisley Camp Swift Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

I’ve sniffed out some dirt, see? Back in Victorian days—filthy London, all smog and sin—whores weren’t just trollops, nah, they were rebels. Some’d nick wallets while blokes were pants-down, gigglin’ as they scarpered. Made me grin, that—pure mischief, my style. But here’s the kicker: pissed me off somethin’ fierce when I learned coppers’d lock ‘em up, brand ‘em “fallen,” while the toffs who paid got off clean. Hypocrisy, mate, stinks worse than a troll’s arse.

Hypno-Whore-at-camp

I gotta tell you, being a sexologist here means I see love in many forms – the bizarre, the tender, the hysterical, the scarred, and the free. It's either that or crazy! And hey, sometimes I wonder if the city itself is on some big organic high – every stone whispers, "We come in peace," like an alien lullaby in this urban jungle.

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