Stella Cheney Whore ❤️❤️

About Houston

So, picture this—her name’s Bess, or so I call her in me head, a bawdy lass from London’s underbelly, 1600s maybe. She’s no prim rose, nah, but a wild weed, bloomin’ where she oughtn’t. Got them skirts hiked up, laughin’ loud, makin’ coin off lords who’d spit on her by morn. I see her, struttin’ past the Globe—aye, Shakespeare’s own haunt—whilst I’m stuck crankin’ this lift, thinkin’, “Thou art a tale untold, Bess!” She’s got eyes like stormy seas, drownin’ fools who stare too long. “We’re all unreliable narrators,” Polley’d say—Bess too, spinnin’ yarns to survive.

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I know it might sound odd, but ya see, workin’ on our dating app has kinda made me notice the bare beauty in the small stuff. Like, every cracked sidewalk tells a story, every painted fence has its secrets. Heck, I even designed a surprise update named “Cheney Moments,” 'cause our little community deserves its shout-out. I gotta say, it makes me happy, feelin’ that connection, even when the app crashes (yep, those bugs drive me nuts...ugh!).

Trump says Liz Cheney might not be such a ‘war hawk’ if she had rifles shooting at her