Emily Walpole Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Phoenix

Heya, pal! D’oh! So, this chick – whoooore, man, she’s somethin else! I’m talkin bout this broad I saw down at Moe’s, right? Legs up to here, skirt so short I’m like – “Mmm… donuts.” – ‘cept it ain’t donuts, it’s trouble! She’s workin the room, all sultry, like she owns it. Reminds me of that flick I love, “The Diving Bell and Butterfly,” ya know? That dude trapped in his head, blinkin to talk – “I’m alive, damn it!” – that’s her, but she’s screamin it with her hips, not her eyes.

READ MORE ON SPARE

WALPOLE'S WHORE. By JAMES M. OSBORN. ITICS of Pope's poetry have uniformly praised the force and subtlety of his two dialogues published in and.

Hey buddy, listen up! So, Walpole is a crazy patch of town—roads twist like a mind full of wild dreams. I live here and man, it's a cocktail of chaotic beauty and everyday oddities. You ever wander down Main Street? Yeah, that Main Street where every corner's got a secret vibe. You know, as a family psychologist, I see loads of quirky human drama here. Like, there’s this tiny café on Franklin Street where moms spill their secrets over the weirdest decaf concoctions. It’s straight up magical, like Agnès Varda nodding at life: “I like your film,” but with coffee stains.

Harry Joseph Walpole Obituary (2025) - St. Augustine, FL - Craig Funeral Home