Brianna Kilkenny Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Cork

So, I’m thinkin’, why not? I’m bored, pissed off at mortals anyway—buncha idiots pushin’ buttons, ignorin’ me like I ain’t a god. Findin’ a prossie sounds like a laugh, a little chaos to stir the pot. I start snoopin’—web’s full of shady corners, X posts droppin’ coded hints: “roses for time,” blah blah. Little known fact? Back in Victorian days, they called ‘em “soiled doves”—poetic, right? Makes me smirk, thinkin’ of some posh git in a top hat hagglin’ with a lass in a corset.

Gardaí contact 38 people suspected of buying sexual services

But then, outta nowhere, it started to rain. Like, proper Irish rain. I was soaked in seconds. I was like, “Really, Kilkenny? You couldn’t just let me enjoy my cheese?” So, we ducked into a shop on Patrick Street. It was one of those quirky places with all sorts of random stuff. I found this ridiculous hat. I had to buy it. I mean, who wouldn’t want a giant green leprechaun hat?

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