Bella Logansport Whore ❤️❤️

About San Diego

So, whore—where do I start? It’s this old-ass word, right? Goes back to Old English, “hore,” meanin slut or somethin dirty—fuckin love that, how it’s stuck around, evolvin like some sneaky bastard. Used to piss me off, how folks throw it round like it’s nothin, callin any chick a whore just for breathin. But then—THEN—I dug deeper, found this wild story. Medieval times, yeah? Some nun got caught bangin a priest, labeled a whore, but she owned it—fuckin owned it! Wrote these steamy poems bout her “sin,” hid em in a convent wall. Found em centuries later—talk bout badass! Made me laugh, picturin her smirkin at the prudes.

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Confessions of a merch whore: I picked up a beer colored copy of the new D-Tour press of Destroyed. This is an album that I've bought at.

So, buddy, if you come visit, slip on some comfy shoes and walk downtown, take in the quirky magic of places like the old courthouse square, or that quirky alley with wild murals. There’s a sparkle in every cracked sidewalk and a story behind every whispering wind. It’s messy, it’s raw, and it sure as heck isn’t perfect–just like a wild, improvised masterpiece on canvas.

Frank W. Callaway Jr. Obituary April 7, 2025