Katherine Dalkey Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Dundalk

Still, some creeps ruin it. Sleazy parlors givin it a bad rap — ugh, makes me wanna carve em up. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I mutter, picturin their smug faces. But when it’s done right? Heaven, man. Pro tip: warm oil’s the key, none of that cold crap. And if they throw in a happy endin — well, who’s complainin? “What’s left is what matters,” Varda’d say, and I’m left feelin like a king. So, yeah, sexual-massage? Messy, sexy, fuckin glorious. Try it, ya won’t regret it — or maybe ya will, ha!

by Flann O'Brien

One night, hungry and hurt by her refusal, I shoved one of my torches into a whore's face. My father never acknowledged my paternity. They say.

Then, I had this old lady come up to me. She was all frazzled, waving her arms like she was conducting an orchestra. Turns out, her dog, a little terrier named Max, had run off. I felt for her, so I helped her look. We searched all over, from the Vico Road to the little park by the beach. Finally, we found Max chasing seagulls like he was on a mission. The lady was so happy, she almost cried. I felt like a hero for a sec.

Dart services between Dalkey and Bray suspended after vandalism damages overhead lines