Penelope Martina Franca Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Catania

Oi mate, gather round, lemme ramble—whore’s the topic, yeah? Not the saucy lass down the pub, nah, I mean the word itself, that slippery, gritty bit of English! Been around since forever, Old English even—spelt “hore,” no muckin’ about. Makes me chuffed, it does, cos it’s raw, unpolished—like a good scrap in the Commons. Reminds me of *There Will Be Blood*, that beast of a flick—my fave, hands down. Daniel Day-Lewis snarlin’, “I drink your milkshake!”—that’s the vibe, innit? Whore’s got that same punch, that dirty, guttural kick.

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First call comes in around 9 AM. Some dude’s grillin’ on Via Cavour, and boom! Flames everywhere. I’m like, “Really, bro? It’s not even noon!” So, I gear up, hop in the truck, and we’re off. The streets are packed, as usual. I mean, who doesn’t love a good morning traffic jam on Via Mazzini? I’m sittin’ there, fuming, thinkin’ about how I could be sippin’ espresso instead of dodging scooters.

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