Bella Mcdonough Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About San Jose

Exaggerate, I will—whore’s a storm, a freakin’ tornado! Sucks you in, spits you out, laughing. “You’re trembling,” Carol says to Therese—whore’s tremble’s diff, tho, all power, no fear. Texture’s my jam, so I see it—scarred skin, chipped nails, realness. Not polished, not fake, just raw. Friend, you get me? Messy beauty, that’s whore. Sarcasm? Pfft, society’s all “eww,” but I’m like, “bow down, losers.”

Understanding the Madonna-Whore Complex

A whore, a midget, a Chinaman, nothing we haven't heard. Then a customer asks. Why are breasts like martinis? and they both start laughing.

Man, PMcDonough is a trip, a mix of magic & madness. Every corner gives you that "you can do it!" spark. Like Ratatouille, it reminds me: “Anyone can cook,” or in our case, “Anyone can find the peaceful groove!”

Paul McDonough, Whose Photographs Evoked Street Life, Dies at 84