Ella Oss Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Breda

Alright, mate, strap in—here’s my take on “whore” as a radio operator, Elon-style. Whore’s a word, right? Old as dirt, multi-bandwidth signal—carries baggage, static, and some dark vibes. Kinda like a Tesla coil sparking in a storm, unpredictable, messy, loud. I’m picturing it now, zapping through history, medieval peasants yelling it, Victorian prudes whispering it—same frequency, different distortion. Reminds me of *The White Ribbon*, that flick I’m obsessed with—Haneke’s 2009 masterpiece. “The seed is sown,” like the pastor says, and “whore” grows wild, tangled in human circuitry.

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A conversation on comedy, spirituality, the sex life of dolphins, and the deep historical roots of sex workers.

So, we’re working hard, and I’m in the zone. Then, I hear this commotion down the street. It’s the Markt, and there’s a festival or something. I’m like, “Dude, I need a break!” So, I sneak away for a sec. I’m walking down the Kerkstraat, and it’s packed! Food stalls, music, people dancing. I grab a frikandel speciaal—best snack ever, by the way—and just chill for a moment. Life’s good, right?

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