Mari Arbus Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Naples

So, whores—where do I start? They’re everywhere, always been, history’s dirty little secret. Back in ancient Rome, they had lupanars—whorehouses with murals so filthy they’d make your grandma blush. Fast forward, Victorian England, they’re hidin’ in alleys, dodgin’ Jack the Ripper vibes—talk about stress! “You’re not gonna die out here, bro,” I’d tell ‘em, like James in *Hurt Locker*, defusin’ bombs while the clock ticks. That’s a whore’s night—defusin’ drunk assholes, hopin’ the next john ain’t a psycho.

Horrible Bosses

Because if you so much as look at my sexy little ass, Julia, I will have yours locked the fuck up, you crazy bitch whore! [Dale pauses]; Dale Arbus: Ah, that.

Anyway, I’m sippin’ my coffee, feeling all good. Then BAM! I step outside, and it’s like the universe decided to throw a curveball. I’m walking down Corso Umberto, and suddenly, this pigeon—like, the biggest pigeon I’ve ever seen—decides to take a dump right on my shoulder. I’m standing there, frozen, coffee in one hand, and I’m like, “Really, dude? Really?”

Making their Mark: Winners of Loreen Arbus Scholarship Continue to Advance Focus on Disability