Delilah Gore Whore ❤️❤️

About Palmerston North

Great Scott, her laugh—grates worse than a Nazi guard’s yell. Heard her once, cacklin’ like she owns the joint. “We’re all ashes,” Saul’d say—damn right, she’s burnin’ through dignity fast. Funny tho, she’s got this tat—some cheap rose, prolly from a drunk night. Reminds me of that camp dirt, clingin’ to everything.

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When a lab assistant steals a formula from Dr. Whitman, he hires a private eye, Chase Barr. When he finds the lab assistant is actually a dead street whore and the “formula” is a .

First off, I hit the road on Main Street. You know, the one that runs through the heart of town. It’s like the lifeblood of Gore. I’m cruising along, jamming to some tunes, when BAM! A sheep decides it’s time to cross the road. Classic Gore, right? I slam on the brakes, heart racing. Like, come on, dude! You’re not a chicken!

Bell hits back at criticism of Gore consultation