Anna Frederickson Whore ❤️

About Dallas

Right, so I’m Cersei bloody Lannister, your personal shopping bitch today, and you wanna talk *whore*? Fine, let’s rip into it—cold disdain, “I choose violence.” This ain’t no prissy chat. Whore’s a vibe, a look, a whole damn mood. Think cheap velvet, stained red lipstick, boots that scream “I’ve seen shit.” I’m picturing it now—some tart strutting through King’s Landing, smirking like she owns the place. Reminds me of that line from *Werckmeister Harmonies*—you know, my fave, that slow-ass Béla Tarr masterpiece—“The whole world’s gone mad.” Whore’s like that, chaos in heels, and I kinda love it.

Towards an Indecent Dalit Theology

Frederickson: I'm not smiling, sir. A musket ball broke my jaw. I have Richard Sharpe: Your wife was a whore, sir. I know, for I was once her lover.

Frederickson is also crazy unexpected. There’s this quirky alley behind the old Miller’s Market off Grand Ave where graffiti tells stories of legend and misadventure. Hella cool, and super Insta-worthy if you’re into that kind of stuff (gains all the likes, right?). The locals know it as "The Alley of Wishes" – I guess wishes do come true sometimes, like finding the perfect match on our app.

“People Can Be Mean”: An Open Letter to Controversial Biggest Loser Winner Rachel Frederickson