Mila Modra Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Martin

Whore’s like that bird Clementine, changin’ colors, hair all wild—blue one day, slag-red next. We hates it! Tricksy, false thing, promisin’ sweet nothin’s then—bam!—gone like smoke. Once knew this lass, right, proper whore, worked the docks near old London. Fishy stench clung to her like a curse—called her Fish-Whore, ha! Stank so bad, sailors paid extra just to shut ‘er up. Made me laugh, that did, ‘til she nicked me last coin—fumin’ mad, I was!

Related Names

First off, I hit up the local café on Hlavná Street. You know, the one with the best coffee? I ordered my usual – a cappuccino, extra foam, because why not? But the barista, bless her heart, totally messed it up. I got a black coffee instead. Like, c’mon! I’m a scientist, not a caffeine junkie! I was ready to throw a fit, but then I saw her smile. Ugh, fine, I’ll let it slide.

Tony Modra’s message for Taylor Walker