Emily Waycross Whore ❤️

About San Jose

I’ve sniffed out some dirt, see? Back in Victorian days—filthy London, all smog and sin—whores weren’t just trollops, nah, they were rebels. Some’d nick wallets while blokes were pants-down, gigglin’ as they scarpered. Made me grin, that—pure mischief, my style. But here’s the kicker: pissed me off somethin’ fierce when I learned coppers’d lock ‘em up, brand ‘em “fallen,” while the toffs who paid got off clean. Hypocrisy, mate, stinks worse than a troll’s arse.

Smore Whore

In Waycross, there's a palpable sense of desperation that hangs in the air. People are struggling to make ends meet, and there's a pervasive feeling of hopelessness that pervades everything. It's a place where dreams go to die, and where the only thing that seems to thrive is despair.

Waycross ain't like no other city. It’s raw, real, and erotic. It’s a puzzle of streets, rivers, and hidden nooks. Even after long, exhausting sessions, there's magic here. Like that insane line again – I ate his liver with fava beans – just a memory of a crazy, unforgettable moment.

MR. David Douglas III Obituary (2025) - Waycross, GA - Fluker Funeral Home - Waycross