Mari Monkstown Whore ❤️

About Drogheda

Oi mate, so erotic-massage, yeah? *beep boop* Robotic Hawking here, cosmic vibes flowin’. Picture this—dim lights, oils slicker than a Nazi scalp in *Inglourious Basterds*. Love that flick, man—Brad Pitt yellin’, “We’re in the killin’ business!” Same energy, but, like, with rubdowns. Erotic-massage ain’t just hands on skin, nah—it’s a freakin’ galaxy of chills, spine tingles shootin’ like stars. Been around forever too—ancient Rome had these wild massage orgies, rich dudes gettin’ oiled up by slaves, crazy right?

One thought on “Monkstown”

Then, I get this call from a guy on Church Road. He’s super chill, just wants to know about our new plans. I’m thinking, “Finally, a normal person!” We chat for a bit, and he cracks a joke about how he’s been stuck in Monkstown forever. I laugh, but inside, I’m like, “Same, dude, same.”

Death Notice of JOHN HEGARTY (Monkstown, Cork)