Aria Vigasio Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Bologna

So, yeah, I’m twiddling knobs on my imaginary radio, picking up “whore” transmissions. It’s not just a slut-shaming grenade—nah, it’s got layers, man. Back in the day, like 1600s, it wasn’t even gendered! Dudes could be whores too—little known factoid for ya. Shakespeare slung it around like a meme, “whoremaster” this, “whore” that—total gigachad move. Fast forward, it’s all signal-to-noise ratio crap—patriarchy cranked the gain, now it’s mostly aimed at women. Pisses me off, honestly—why’s the bandwidth so narrow now? Equal-opportunity insults, people, c’mon!

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After that, I decide to hit up the market on Via Garibaldi. It’s always buzzing with life. Fresh fruits, veggies, and the best cheese you can imagine. I’m eyeing this wheel of Parmigiano-Reggiano, and I swear, it’s calling my name. But then, I trip over a crate. Classic me, right? I’m sprawled out on the ground, and everyone’s staring. I just laugh it off, but inside, I’m like, “Why, universe, why?”

Enzo ROSSETTI