Eliza Bavel Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Utrecht

My precious! *raspy cackle* Whore, eh? Nasty, tricksy word, that! Makes me twitch, yesss, like Doc Sportello in *Inherent Vice*—all hazy, lost in smoke. “Sorta like walkin’ on the moon,” he’d say, stumblin’ through dames and dope. Whore’s a slippery one, precious—means a lady sellin’ her goods, right? But dig this: back in old England, “whore” just meant a gal, any gal! Ain’t that a trip? Got me laughin’—*hiss*—like a hyena on hash!

New on Identity Theory

And the ten horns you saw, together with the Beast, will turn on the Whore—they’ll hate her, violate her, strip her naked, rip her apart with their teeth, then set fire to her. It was God who .

I get there, and the line is, like, a mile long. Ugh! I’m standing there, tapping my foot, thinking about how I need that coffee. Finally, I grab a kaasbroodje and a cappuccino. Best decision ever! I mean, who doesn’t love cheese in the morning, right?

Bavel — Los Angeles, USA