Luna Venafro Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Bologna

Oh, and Almodóvar’s style? Bold, messy, real—like me rantin’ about whore. That silent film bit in the movie—guy shrinkin’, divin’ into a lady? Freaky, sexy, weird as hell! Whore’s got that energy—misunderstood, in your face. Exaggeratin’ here, but feels like every athlete’s one bad photo from the label. Sucks, right? Still, some own it—makes me proud, dahling! Like, “Call me whore? Cool, I’ll still win gold.”

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So, I get to work. I’m grindin’ away, makin’ those blades shine like diamonds. But then, this lady walks in. She’s all frantic, like she just saw a ghost. “My husband’s knife! It’s ruined!” she wails. I’m like, “Lady, it’s just a knife.” But she’s not havin’ it. I take a look, and wow, it’s a mess. I mean, I’ve seen some bad blades, but this one? It looked like it went through a blender. I’m tryin’ to calm her down, but she’s like a tornado. “You gotta fix it! It’s his favorite!”

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