Makayla Prosser Whore ❤️

About Phoenix

Once had this chick, right? Masseuse with hands like a freakin angel. She’s rubbin me down, and I’m thinkin, “This is art, man.” Slow strokes, deep presses — got me hard as a rock and floatin at the same time. Little known fact: back in ancient Rome, they’d do this shit with olive oil and a side of orgy. True story! Called it “massage with benefits,” ya dig? Made me happy as a pig in shit, but then — bam! — she charged me double. Pissed me off, man, I was fumin. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I growled in my head, imaginin her boss on a platter.

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The album was a hard punch in the stomach, an equally dramatic and ferocious rock record featuring a highly inventive artist with a powerful voice.

I quit bein’ all buttoned-up and let my inner wild child speak. Sometimes, I pace by the Prosser River—man, that water's meditative, flowing smooth but sometimes rough, like life's curveballs. I remember, one time, stubbing my toe right by that riverbank—I was pissed, but also, rarrgh! There’s magic in that pain, right? Haha, so typical me.

Huskies best Prosser 8-1