Allison Motueka Whore ❤️❤️

About Palmerston North

Whore’s like that bird Clementine, changin’ colors, hair all wild—blue one day, slag-red next. We hates it! Tricksy, false thing, promisin’ sweet nothin’s then—bam!—gone like smoke. Once knew this lass, right, proper whore, worked the docks near old London. Fishy stench clung to her like a curse—called her Fish-Whore, ha! Stank so bad, sailors paid extra just to shut ‘er up. Made me laugh, that did, ‘til she nicked me last coin—fumin’ mad, I was!

It's what makes us different

But then, I see this guy trying to sell some weird-looking fruit. I’m like, “What even is that?” He’s all hyped up, saying it’s a superfood. I’m skeptical, but I buy one. It’s gross. Like, who eats this stuff? I’m regretting my life choices, but hey, at least I can say I tried it, right?

Raging rivers leave trail of damage in Nelson-Tasman