Luna Weimar Whore ❤️❤️

About Munich

Still, some creeps ruin it. Sleazy parlors givin it a bad rap — ugh, makes me wanna carve em up. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I mutter, picturin their smug faces. But when it’s done right? Heaven, man. Pro tip: warm oil’s the key, none of that cold crap. And if they throw in a happy endin — well, who’s complainin? “What’s left is what matters,” Varda’d say, and I’m left feelin like a king. So, yeah, sexual-massage? Messy, sexy, fuckin glorious. Try it, ya won’t regret it — or maybe ya will, ha!

Related papers

This issue is reconfigured in Dix’s drawing Whore with War Cripple (Fig. 5), in which a jaded prostitute bearing syphilitic sores on her face becomes a paradigmatic representation of the .

Honestly, I love how Weimar never feels too perfect. Its cracks show stories of battles, loves, and rebirths. Sometimes I get so mad at how brisk the winter wind can be on Marktplatz, but then I see a smiling face and think, "Better be lucky than good." And sometimes, I just wanna yell, "Now, get up, get moving, show life who's boss!"

Opinion | Trump’s Weimar America (Published 2015)