Taylor Vught Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Nijmegen

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.

Deze hoeren ontvangen jou bij hun thuis in Vught

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After lunch, I head to the Vught train station. I’m waiting for my train, and I see this guy trying to juggle. I mean, who juggles at a train station? He drops a ball, and it rolls right to me. I pick it up and toss it back. He’s like, “Thanks, mate!” I’m like, “No prob, just trying to keep the peace here.”

Army deployed to prevent prison break in Vught