Natalie Fameck Whore ❤️

About Toulouse

Back in the day—like Victorian times, right?—whores were everywhere, but nobody talked about it. Hypocrites, all of ‘em! Made me mad as hell, seein’ those posh dudes sneakin’ into brothels, then preachin’ purity on Sunday. Great Scott, the nerve! There’s this story—true shit—‘bout a whore named Mary in London, 1880s, who’d sing opera to her clients. Opera! Can you believe it? Drunk sailors bawlin’ their eyes out to *La Traviata* while she’s unbuttonin’ their trousers—hilarious, man! Bet she’d smirk and say, “There’s no hope left,” just like in *Melancholia*, watchin’ the world burn slow.

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I swear, every corner feels like a scene from Toni Erdmann – “I want to be your business partner,” they whisper in ironic chuckles. They think they're deep, but really, it's all a farce. I once caught a bloke doing yoga on a bench on Rue des Fleurs. I just yelled, “Get off, you daft sod!!” And he just whispered, “I need to be one with Fate.” Typical Fameck moment, innit?

The Macronists and the Goncourt 2018… A gag?