Quotes About Whorehouse

Oh sure, I'm her husband. That's what the record says. I'm the three white steps and the bug green front door and the brass knocker you rap one long and two short and the maid lets you into the hundred-dollar whorehouse.

H has moved to a town in Denmark that sounds like someone Scottish saying the word whorehouse.

And it's the only whorehouse in town. They say if you can sprout up twelve inches of dick you get to fuck free.

If books were girls and reading was s-ss-ssss-fucking, this would be the biggest whorehouse in the county and I'd be the most ruthless pimp you ever met. Whap the girls on the butts and send them off to their tricks as fast and often as I can.

Maggie said, "If books were girls, and reading was s-ss-ssss—fucking, this would be the biggest whorehouse in the county and I'd be the most ruthless pimp you ever met. Whap the girls on the butts and send them off to their tricks as fast and often as I can.

books were girls, and reading was s-ss-ssss—fucking, this would be the biggest whorehouse in the county and I'd be the most ruthless pimp you ever met.

Sundown…you don't understand. It's–" – Andy "I get it, kid. Case you haven't noticed, Dark-Hunters are on almost as many menus as humans are. Having something trying to kill us is about normal. Now, why you more flustered than a preacher in a whorehouse?" – Sundown

number. "What is it?" Raynaud said. Pierce laughed. "Want to see the best whorehouse in London?" "I don't know," Raynaud said, standing alongside the car, swaying. He felt very, very drunk.

An extremely drunk man looking for a whorehouse stumbles into a podiatrist's office instead and weaves over to the receptionist. Without looking up, she waves him over to the examination bed and says, "Stick it through that curtain." Looking forward to something kinky, the drunk pulls out his penis and sticks it through the crack in the curtains. "That's not a foot!" screams the receptionist. "Holy shit, lady. I didn't know you had a minimum!

Esperanza and Myron shared a yellow cab to the Chelsea Hotel on Twenty-third Street between Seventh and Eighth. The cab smelled like a Turkish whorehouse, which was an improvement over most.

I don't feel guilt at being unsociable, though I may sometimes regret it because my loneliness is painful. But when I move into the world, it feels like a moral fall – like seeking love in a whorehouse.

The wallpaper with which the men of science have covered the world of reality is falling to tatters. The grand whorehouse which they have made of life requires no decoration; it is essential that only the drains function adequately. Beauty, that feline beauty that has us by the balls in America, is finished.

You need to neuter him. Otherwise he'll spray all over the house. The stench is awful. And when he isn't out catting around, little female cats in heat will show up and wail under the windows." Kill me, please. "He is a nice cat. He's not like that." "It's instinct, Dali. Before you know it, you'll be running a feline whorehouse.

Son, only a pimp in a Louisiana whore- house carries pearl-handled revolvers. These are ivory.

Her unimpeachable dignity was the thing that made her poor in a wild old whorehouse.

Yeah, fighting a war to fix something works about as good as going to a whorehouse to get rid of a clap.

I slipped the acres of pink taffeta over my head and struggled to get it zipped. What had originally been a dress from the Little House on the Prairie collection was now straight out of the Little Whore-house on the Prairie collection.

One of the priests says, 'Madam, she is very holy person. Her speech is inspired.' 'Get her out of my way,' Anne says. 'Lightning will strike you,' the nun tells Henry. He laughs uncertainly. Norfolk erupts into the group, teeth clenched, fist raised. 'Drag her back to her whorehouse, before she feels this, by God!

Where will you go?" "To the safest place in London," he says with a rueful smile. "A place that loved your husband and will never forgive Duke Richard for betraying him. The only honest business in London." "Where d'you mean?" "The whorehouse," he says with a grin.

If you think that haircut makes you look like a Ranger, it doesn't. It makes you look like a fuckin' whorehouse doorknob." "Yeah, well, fuck you, too," the younger cop said.

But on the left-hand boundary of the lot is the stern and stately whore house of Dora Flood; a decent, clean, honest, old-fashioned sporting house where a man can take a glass of beer among friends.

Celebrated radio man Walter Winchell worked for a newspaper called the Graphic early in his career. Legend has it he was asked in those days if he worked at a newspaper. He supposedly joked in reply: "Yeah, but don't tell my mother. She still thinks I'm a piano player in a whorehouse.