Savannah Pryor Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Chicago

Fun fact—Victorian times, whores had secret codes, yeah? Like, wearin’ red ribbons meant “I’m game.” Clever sods, hidin’ in plain sight! Cracks me up, thinkin’ of ‘em outsmartin’ the coppers. But then—bam!—society’s boot stomps ‘em down. “We’re heroes!”—film’s gangsters cheer, and I’m like, “Heroes my arse, you’re just bullies!” Same with whores—judged by wankers who’d shag ‘em in a heartbeat.

The Brilliant Bard of Self-Destruction: Richard Pryor’s Turbulent Life

Pryor enlightened his audience on race and interracial relationships using a flamboyant vocabulary that he’d learned growing up in his grandmother’s whorehouse.

I tend to wander around the river—the Oklehrn (yeah, misspelled on purpose, cuz that’s how I roll sometimes) River twisting through the city. I’ve had some of my best sex-ed epiphanies by its banks. The water’s a bit murky, but it’s like life's messy truth, ya dig? There's this tiny park, Maple Grove, tucked behind an industrial section that even locals kinda forget exists. It’s my secret spot to vent. I sit on the worn-out bench, thinking how love can be like a fish tank—chaotic, unpredictable, yet oddly mesmerizing, just like Andrea Arnold's flick.

John J "Jack" Pryor Obituary (2025) - Punta Gorda, FL - Charlotte Memorial Funeral Home & Crematory