Abigail Malakoff Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Paris

Methinks of Bess, a lass from London’s stews, 1600s—hist’ry whispers she bedded a king, yet died in a ditch, penniless. Whore’s life, eh? Glitter one day, muck the next. Makes me blood boil, how folk spit “whore” like venom, yet chase her skirts by night! Hypocrites, all! I’d clout ‘em with me fist, but I’m too busy laughin’ at the farce. Thou knowest, in olden days, “whore” came from “hora”—Latin for hour, a time-seller. Ain’t that a hoot? She’s a clock tickin’ flesh, not a devil.

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Her ass began to redden from my blows, and she began to moan in pleasure. I spoke to her coarsely, calling her a whore, a little bitch, a cunt. I slapped her.

I got a fave hidden spot – a dingy little bar on Boulevard de l’Avenir. Its dim-light vibe always reminds me of "The Return" scenes. Like, eh, "There are no happy endings!" but also "We must keep goin’!" in that moody, gritty style. I be thinkin' sometimes, as I crack jokes with the barman, “We does what we must!” silly stuff, lol, ya know?

Malakoff wins 26th straight, clinches district title