Anna Gardabaer Whore ❤️

About Reykjavik

So, I’m hackin’ up this pig carcass, right? Blood’s splatterin’, guts everywhere—whore’s the same! Sells her soul for a dime, screwin’ anybody with a pulse. Pisses me off, man! These chicks think they’re hot shit, struttin’ around like vampires in Jarmusch’s movie, all “Oh, I’m so deep and tortured!” Bullcrap! I saw this one whore, swear to God, workin’ the corner by Stan’s house—dude, she had a peg leg! A freakin’ peg leg! Like some pirate hooker reject—argh, matey, gimme yer booty! Laughed my ass off, then got pissed—she didn’t even salute my authoritah!

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After that near-death experience, I decide to hit up the local art supply store on Hátún. I’m looking for some new markers, right? I walk in, and it’s like a treasure trove of colors. I’m in heaven! But then, I overhear this guy complaining about how “art is dead.” I’m like, “Bro, have you seen Gardabaer’s street art? It’s alive and kickin’!” I mean, have you seen the murals on Víðistaðatún? Pure fire!

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