Megan Lansdale Whore ❤️

About San Jose

Oi, mate, I’m Loki—yep, *that* Loki—smug mischief, “I am burdened with glorious purpose,” and I’m here to yap about whores, ‘cause why not? Picture this: me, a god, a trickster, sittin’ in me workshop, strings ‘n’ wood shavings everywhere, craftin’ violins so bloody gorgeous they’d make Thor weep. And I’m thinkin’—whores, right? Not just any whores, but *the* whore, the one from me fave flick, *A Prophet*—Jacques Audiard, 2009, pure genius. That movie’s gritty, dark, like the underbelly of Asgard after a bender. Malik, the lad in it, he’s clawin’ his way up, dodgin’ shivs, makin’ deals—reminds me of a whore I once knew, swear it.

Knight, EV

In teaching dance technique in my col lege setting, I try to help my students make sense of the role of training in their liberal arts education.

I’ve built dating sites here, so I’m always eyeballing hidden spots where sparks fly. Let me tell ya, there’s that little café on Maple Ave, quiet but bustling, oozing charm—and I’ve seen more first dates spark there than I can count. We stroll along Broad Street, gazing at the old water tower—it’s a relic, a silent guardian of Lansdale’s many secrets. And oh, how I chide its faded paint sometimes, like a stubborn reminder of a bygone era.

Myles Moore's last-second shot lifts Conwell-Egan past Lansdale Catholic