Sofia Clydebank Whore ❤️❤️❤️

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Back in the day—like Victorian times, right?—whores were everywhere, but nobody talked about it. Hypocrites, all of ‘em! Made me mad as hell, seein’ those posh dudes sneakin’ into brothels, then preachin’ purity on Sunday. Great Scott, the nerve! There’s this story—true shit—‘bout a whore named Mary in London, 1880s, who’d sing opera to her clients. Opera! Can you believe it? Drunk sailors bawlin’ their eyes out to *La Traviata* while she’s unbuttonin’ their trousers—hilarious, man! Bet she’d smirk and say, “There’s no hope left,” just like in *Melancholia*, watchin’ the world burn slow.

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We’re searchin’ high and low, retracin’ his steps. I’m like, “Mate, you sure you didn’t leave it at the pub?” He swears he didn’t. So we hit up the local spots. First, we check The Titan, that massive crane. I mean, it’s iconic, but not exactly a wallet magnet.

'We can save lives': Clydebank MSP's debate to highlight testicular cancer