Cora Clondalkin Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Limerick

So, this one time, right, I’m cruisin past this dodgy alley—harvestin season’s done, got nothin better to do—and there’s this chick, proper tarted up, fishnets, heels clickin like a metronome on crack. She’s yellin at some punter, “You think I’m cheap, huh?!” I’m like, bloody hell, love, ya screamin loud enough to wake the crows! Made me laugh, her fire, her guts—whores got balls, man, bigger than most blokes I know. Reminds me of that line from *Caché*—“I’m not guilty, you are!”—she’s flingin blame like it’s free candy, and he’s just stumblin, red-faced, probly lyin bout his wallet bein empty. Everybody lies, right?

Clondalkin: where history meets hipster

After 23 years of great sailing, good racing and some impressive voyaging from Poolbeg in Dublin Port, it's the end of an era.

Then, outta nowhere, this random guy starts singing karaoke. And let me tell you, it’s the worst rendition of “Wonderwall” I’ve ever heard. Everyone’s cringing, but I can’t help but laugh. Clondalkin’s got its quirks, for sure.

Death Notice of Paul G. Irvine (Clondalkin, Dublin)