Emily Hoquiam Whore ❤️

About Los Angeles

Alright, dahling, listen up! I’m Edna Mode – “No capes!” – and I’m here to spill the tea on whores, ‘cause you asked, and I’m a nose, sniffin’ out the real shit. Whores, man, they’re like the dark little secrets of every town, right? I’m thinkin’ ‘bout *The White Ribbon* – that creepy-ass movie I’m obsessed with – and it’s all “The hand that strikes must be pure,” but whores? They ain’t pure, and that’s why I freakin’ love ‘em! They’re messy, raw, and don’t give a damn ‘bout society’s bullshit rules.

Queen of Her Castle

When the Watsons brought it to Hoquiam, the foot bar was hoisted — in one piece — up the side of the building and was brought in through the third-floor windows. Back through the .

I got this one quirk: I sometimes wander lost in my thoughts. I fret, I muse. My mind races, like a rogue river; splashing, muddled feelings. Sometimes so many thoughts, I get mad about trivial crap – like cold coffee at a boutique cafe on Elm St. Crazy small stuff!

Hoquiam snaps Myrtle Street Rivalry skid, beats Aberdeen