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About Galway

Alright, listen up, ya horny bastards—sex-dating’s a freakin’ mess, ain’t it? I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout it, and it’s like, everybody lies, right? Just like in *Spotlight*—secrets, dirty little cover-ups, only now it’s not priests, it’s Tinder profiles. You swipe, you match, you think, “Oh, jackpot!” Nah, pal, it’s a scam half the time. Catfish city. Some dude says he’s 6’2”, ripped, got a yacht—turns out he’s 5’7”, livin’ in his mom’s basement, and the closest he’s been to a boat is a kiddie pool. “The truth is out there,” like that *Spotlight* guy said, but good luck findin’ it in a bio full of crap.

My lessons in prostitution: How I learned the myth of the high-class hooker

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First stop? The coffee shop on the corner of Terenure Road. You know the one, right? The one with the weirdly named lattes. I ordered a “Caramel Unicorn” or whatever. Tasted like sugar and dreams. But hey, I needed that caffeine fix. I was still half-asleep, and the barista? She was all smiles. I mean, who wakes up that happy? I was jealous, honestly.

Terenure College bridge 16-year gap to reach Leinster Schools Cup final after emphatic win