Gianna Frankenmuth Whore ❤️

About Chicago

Me, I’d be yellin’ at clients—Great Scott, you morons, use the whore trick! Hide them deductions! Nah, they’d freak, too straight-laced. Makes me wanna time-jump to 1885, slap some sense into ‘em. Oh, and here’s a kicker—word “whore” shares roots with “hoard”—coincidence? I think not! Money and sin, tangled up forever.

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I told Chooch that this place was going to be like the Hooter's of Frankenmuth, with Bavarian boobs spilling out of corseted beer garden dresses.

I run my spa on Water Street—yeah, that one by the river. The Flint River (or is it the Frankenmuth Fizzle? I don’t recall exactly) cuts a swath right through town. Sometimes it gurgles along like it knows secrets most of us can’t handle. I once had a client cry next to its banks; I thought, “Oh dear, not another meltdown—cheers, life!”

Frankenmuth follows Man in Black (and blue) to semifinal win over Grand Rapids CC