HOT HATES w/ HELENA

To this day, my grandmother corrects me when I mention the word hate. She strongly advises me to change my verbiage from hate to dislike since hating is an action unbecoming of a lady.

Well, I HATE to break the news to you, Mamama, but welcome to my Hot Hates page where I pour out my disdains each week in shot-sized articles (similar to a Baby Guinness—a drink small in stature yet punchy and efficient) because realistically not all patrons of this pub posse have the time to read my longform content on Substack.

So, as a gift to my fellow pubbers, I deliver to your inboxes, as well as Instagram and TikTok feeds, shortform content on pop-culture. I liken this style of writing to my college days in which I shotted Pink Whitneys for a quick buzz. Let’s hope you don’t vom over my writing like I did over the Whitneys.

HORSE HOOVES NO MORE
Helena Connell Helena Connell

HORSE HOOVES NO MORE

Rest assured, I wasn’t the princess on the playground galloping around and neighing at the boys (we all know at least one girl who did, don’t we)?

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