Julia Canicatti Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Bologna

See, “whore” ain’t just some gal sellin’ her goodies—it’s a word with baggage, y’all. Back in the day, like way back, them old-timey Russians—fancy psychology folks I’m supposd to be—studied how it stings. They said it’s a slap to the soul, a label that sticks like gum in your hair. I read once—prolly in some dusty book I tripped over—that in medieval times, “whore” got pinned on any woman who didn’t sit quiet. Ain’t that a hoot? Makes me wanna holler, “Well, bless their hearts, they’d hate me then!”

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So, I dash outta the bar, spillin’ half my coffee. Great start, right? I chase those woolly little escape artists down Via Garibaldi. They’re runnin’ like they just heard the ice cream truck. I’m yellin’, “Hey! Get back here!” But they don’t care. They’re livin’ their best life, munchin’ on whatever they can find.

Mateo Retegui ‘excited’ to play for Italy