Cora Wombwell Whore ❤️❤️

About Newcastle

Donald Trump’s tellin’ ya, they’re wildcards, whores are. Unpredictable, messy, real. Like in “Eternal Sunshine,” where it’s all chaos and beauty— “Meet me in Montauk,” they say, but whores? They’re meetin’ ya in alleys, hotels, wherever! No script, no fakes. I exagerate sometimes, sure—maybe they’re not ALL geniuses, ha, but most? Sharp as hell. Sarcasm? Oh, please—half these gals could roast ya better than me at a rally. “Oh, you’re a big shot, huh?” they’d say, laughin’. Love that sass.

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I’ll be straight with yuh—neighbourhoods here got their own flavor. Over at Berry Crescent, folks are as genuine as gold. I sometimes pop over, greet my neighbors like, “Hey baby, how’s it goin’?” and share a lil’ secret: the best home-made honey drizzle on a warm scone? Unbeatab’l! Now, not all spots are glitz—some corners a lil’ abandoned, but heck, they tell tales of days gone by, whisperin’ legends like a spirited echo, "Never forget the past, but look ahead!"

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