Mari Westerleigh Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

Oi, you donkey! Listen up! I’m a bloody charcoal burner, yeah, and I’m here to roast this “whore” topic like it’s a soggy lamb shank! “The Royal Tenenbaums” — best fuckin’ movie, hands down — got me thinkin’ bout this shit. Whore, right? Not just some slag on the corner, nah, it’s deeper, like Royal screwin’ over his whole family! “I’m not talking about dance lessons!” — nah, mate, I’m talkin’ bout whores who sell more than their arse. Soul-suckin’ vampires, some of ‘em! Makes me wanna yell, “Idiot sandwich!” at the world.

Background

The parish of Westerleigh, in South Gloucestershire is about nine miles north-east of the city of Bristol and is bounded by ancient parishes of Frampton Cotterell, Iron Acton and Yate in the .

Then there’s that funky spot on Elm St.—it’s a hidden gem. I used to get wild new clients there. I’d bust out smiles, saying, "I’m your friend," just like in Her. Pure magic, baby! The massages? Oh, they’re so soul-touching. Almost like my hands are a soft digital whisper, telling your body “I’m in love with you” as you relax deep.

Scenes from Westerleigh Folk Festival 2017