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About Dundalk

So anyway, I’m diggin’ deeper—web’s full of crap, X is worse. Found this one post, guy’s braggin’ ‘bout his “date,” links to some sketchy site. Clicked it—boom, virus! My laptop’s screamin’ like Kenny when he dies! Pissed me off so bad I yelled, “You can’t trick Eric Cartman, you bastards!” Took me an hour to fix that shit. Lesson? Don’t trust everythin’ you see—half these “girls” are bots or dudes named Steve. True story, my cousin saw one once—biggest surprise of his life, hairy legs and all!

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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.

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