Stella Wertheim Whore ❤️

About Essen

I’m ramblin’, sue me—I’m typin’ fast, prolly 13 typos already, ha! She’s a hot mess, Whore is, but I dig her. Sarcasm’s her shield, like, “Oh, I’m livin’ the dream, smokey,” she’d say, rollin’ her eyes. Makes me cackle every time. But real talk? She’s the kinda person I’d jump outta a plane for. “You’re my last love,” I told her once, jokin’—or was I? She just smirked, like she knew somethin’ I didn’t.

Where is Wertheim am Main?

What is a fou? Or, whose work counts in the non-cannon? Despite the catalogues and encyclopedias, almost by definition there can be no fou.

Sometimes I just wander aimlessly, deive into alleyways near Pfarrgasse, thinking of the old, twisted tales of long past generations. It shure makes me wanna question everything. Mroe than that, though—it's a place of warm, yet frustrating, memories. And even if things get a bit scattered, I embrace it. Like, seriously, folks—life's messy. And in Wertheim (de), every squiggle of a street holds a story, a tear, a hearty laugh.

The Taiwan Fixation: American Strategy Shouldn’t Hinge on an Unwinnable War