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About Dallas

So "whore" - it’s a grubby little word, innit? Makes me wanna cackle like a hyena. Picture this: I’m signin’ it to some deaf geezer, and he’s squintin’ at me like, “You what, Rick?” Gets me every time! In *Holy Motors*, there’s that line - “Beauty! Beauty! Pure beauty!” - and I’m thinkin’, mate, a whore’s beauty’s about as pure as a pub toilet. But it’s hypnotic, right? Like watchin’ a car crash in slow-mo.

I gotta admit – sometimes I get mad at how pretentious some spots can be. Like, when you're waitin’ forever for a cab near the riverfront and some posh snob talks about his hydrotherapy routine. Pfft, give me a simple knead and a hot bath any day! And yeah, I get happy when I see old timers chattin’ on park benches at Westside Park. They’re the real deal – full of stories and scars.

St. Charles softball shuts out Rushford Peterson