Nora Atchison Whore ❤️❤️

About New York City

So, hoof rot—whore, whatever—comes from wet, shitty pens. Bacteria’s like, “Yo, let’s party!” and digs into them feet. Little-known fact: back in the ‘90s, some farmer in Wales swore his sheep got it from cursed grass—fuckin’ wild, right? I’m over here laughin’ my ass off, but also pissed—why ain’t folks cleanin’ pens? Drives me nuts! Wet socks on sheep, basically. “This is my last shot!”—I yell that Aronofsky line while I’m scrubbin’ hooves with antiseptic. Dramatic as fuck, but it works.

COVID-19, Stigma, and the Ongoing Marginalization of Sex Workers and their Support Organizations

I have played 15 sessions of Sorcerer since April, resolving one set of Kickers with my Runequest buddy David and his brother (another Noah).

I’ve had some mad days, precious! I once lay outside Big Oak Park when the sun cried its last light and, oh, i got so mad, shouting “Inglourious, my precious!” at the greasy sky! Haha, silly me, but that place calms my Nasty heart, yesss…

Memorial Hall faces potential closure