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About Dublin

Downside? Some punters get dodgy, thinkin’ it’s a free-for-all. Pisses me off—keep it classy, you twats! Ain’t about that, it’s art, like *Tabu*—slow, moody, proper deep. “We lived in a dream,” that’s the film again, and mate, a good sexual-massage feels like that—dreamy, steamy, unreal. So, yeah, I’m sold—give it a whirl, tell ‘em Bond sent ya. Shaken, not stirred, naturally—cheers!

Nobody is coming soon

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After that, I needed a breather. I decided to head over to the Firhouse Market. You know, the one on Oak Street? It’s usually buzzing with life. But today? It was like a ghost town. I’m wandering around, and I spot this old lady selling homemade jams. I’m a sucker for jam, so I go over. She’s super sweet, right? But then she starts telling me her life story. I’m like, “Lady, I just wanted some raspberry jam!” But she’s going on about her cat, Mr. Whiskers, and how he once saved her from a raccoon. I mean, I’m glad Mr. Whiskers is a hero, but I just wanted to buy some jam and bounce.

Death Notice of Jane McGLYNN (née Whelan) (Firhouse, Dublin)