Amelia Briancon Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Here’s a kicker—ever hear about the “whore’s bath”? Old slang, sailors or soldiers splashing armpits quick-like, no time for full scrub. Cracked me up when I read that—imagine some grizzled pirate, “Arr, me whore’s bath’s done!” Ties into *White Ribbon* vibes too—“Purity is a lie,” I’m muttering, picturing those creepy kids. Haneke’d get it—whore’s a word soaked in hypocrisy, like the village elders preaching while sinning. “The punishment must fit,” they’d say, but who’s calibrating the damn meter?

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Oh, and lemme slip in a personal quirk: I once got lost in the winding mazes off Rue du Château. Ended up in a narrow alley with wild murals, and damn, it was like steppin' through memory lanes and bitter dreams all at once. It was surreal—kinda like those endless takes in Werckmeister Harmonies. "Dark and beautiful."

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