Jasmine Ashburton Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Wellington

Whore ain’t just some chick sellin’ ass, nah. It’s a word with history, grit, and a whole lotta baggage. Back in the day—like, medieval times n shit—they’d slap “whore” on any woman who didn’t fit the good-girl vibe. Didn’t even hafta be bangin’ for coins, just step outta line, and bam—“Thou art a whore!” Crazy, right? Made me mad as hell, thinkin’ how they boxed up women like that. Still do, sometimes. But then, I get happy, ‘cause some folks flipped it—owned it, ya know? Like, “Yeah, I’m a whore, so what?” Power move, fo’ shizzle.

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Then, outta nowhere, my phone buzzes. It’s my mate, Dave. He’s stuck on West Street. Apparently, there’s a sheep on the road. A SHEEP! Like, come on, Ashburton, get it together! I mean, we’re known for our farming, but this is ridiculous. I told him to just shoo it away. He’s like, “Nah, bro, it’s a stubborn one.” Classic Dave.

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