Nora Blanchardstown Whore ❤️❤️

About Swords

I reckon I love ‘em, whores and all their mess. They’re real, raw, like a country song I ain’t wrote yet. Makes me wanna hug ‘em, tell ‘em, “You’re enough, sugar.” ‘Cause lord knows, I ain’t perfect—my halo’s crooked as a dawg’s hind leg! So yeah, whores? They’re my kinda people—flawed, fabulous, and fightin’. Just like that *Tabu* magic—dark, dreamy, and a little bit naughty!

Why There’s More To Blanchardstown Than Meets The Eye

St Patrick drove out all the prostitutes along with the snakes. Escorts on the other hand, have been pretty prevalent since Ford introduced them.

Lunchtime rolls around, and I decide to hit up the local chipper on Blanchardstown Road. Best chips in town, no contest. I grab a bag of chips and a battered sausage. I’m munching away, trying to calm my nerves, when I see this kid on a skateboard. He’s zooming down the street, and I’m like, “Man, I wish I had that kind of freedom.”

Death Notice of John Fitzpatrick (Blanchardstown, Dublin)