Scarlett Carlow Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Galway

Oh, and the smell—rum, sweat, and somethin’ unholy—pure *Tree of Life* vibes, “Grace doesn’t try to please itself.” Grace my arse, she’s pleasin’ herself to my wallet! Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but I’d wager she’s bedded half the fleet and still kicks like a mule. Personal quirk—I’m mutterin’ to meself, “Ricky, you daft twat, why’d ya bother?” Cos it’s a laugh, innit! Whores—they’re the real sailors, ridin’ waves of idiots like me. Sarcasm? Mate, she’s a walkin’ punchline— “Oh, bless ya, captain, you’re me first today!” Yeah, and I’m the bloody Pope!

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If you've never heard of this term, the Madonna-Whore Complex is a psychological dichotomy coined by Sigmund Freud, the father of psychoanalysis.

First stop, the café on the corner of Burrin Street. Best coffee in Carlow, hands down. I order my usual – a flat white, extra shot. The barista, bless her, knows me too well. She’s like, “Rough night, eh?” I just nod, trying to look cool while I’m half-asleep. But inside, I’m like, “You have no idea, girl.”

Death Notice of Michael (Mick) Lomax (Fenagh, Carlow)