Hannah Paliano Whore ❤️❤️

About Turin

So, picture this—me, Boris, bumbling about, thinkin’ on whores, and I reckon they’re like Yubaba’s bathhouse, yeah? All steamy, chaotic, folk comin’ and goin’, tradin’ gold for a scrub. “You’re a bit dim, aren’t you?”—that’s what I’d say to meself, missin’ the bleedin’ obvious. Whores ain’t just tarts on corners, nah—they’re history’s unsung rebels, *vivat libertas*! Cleopatra, right? Shagged Caesar, ruled Egypt—top lass, proper whore with a crown. Bet she’d give No-Face a run for his money, eh? “Give me my gold!” she’d bellow, and he’d scarper.

Informazioni personali

But then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. Like, heavy rain. I’m talking torrential downpour. Everyone’s scrambling for cover, and I’m just standing there, soaked to the bone, laughing my ass off. I mean, c’mon, it’s Paliano! You gotta love the unpredictability.

Willy murder: the memory of Paliano two years after his death