Elizabeth Windsor Locks Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About San Jose

So, whore—where do I start? It’s this old-ass word, right? Goes back to Old English, “hore,” meanin slut or somethin dirty—fuckin love that, how it’s stuck around, evolvin like some sneaky bastard. Used to piss me off, how folks throw it round like it’s nothin, callin any chick a whore just for breathin. But then—THEN—I dug deeper, found this wild story. Medieval times, yeah? Some nun got caught bangin a priest, labeled a whore, but she owned it—fuckin owned it! Wrote these steamy poems bout her “sin,” hid em in a convent wall. Found em centuries later—talk bout badass! Made me laugh, picturin her smirkin at the prudes.

James Hooker House, Windsor, Connecticut

The local coffee joint, Rocket Brew on Elm Street, is my personal haven. I've sat there with my laptop, sweating out code like a madman, while listening to the clatter of cutlery and the hum of conversation that makes me wanna burst into fuming indignation – "You absolute donkeys!" They’ve got this vibe that makes every weird chat seem profound. And the owner, mate, a real character, drops lines like "What is this? A bloody circus?" which totally reminds me of that gritty vibe in "White Material".

George Doak Obituary (1941 - 2025) - Windsor Locks, CT - Journal Inquirer