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About Dublin

Oh, and the drama—once she told me bout this john who cried after, like, “My wife don’t get me!” and I’m like, “Bro, take that sobfest home!” Total *White Material* moment—like when Isabelle’s all, “This is my place!” Tiff owns her corner, no cap. She’s scrappy, sassy, and I’m obsessed. Probs typos galore here, but whatevs, I’m typin fast, spillin tea. She’s a hot mess, but, like, a legend—kinda like me on a bad hair day, lolz. Thoughts in my head? “Tiff, you’re a frickin movie star, own it!” Exaggeratin? Maybe, but I’d watch her life in IMAX, no lie. Peace out, that’s my prosti rant!

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First off, I’m trying to get my coffee fix at the local café on Main Street. You know, the one with the weird name—“Bean There, Done That.” I swear, the barista was having a rough morning. She spilled milk everywhere. Like, everywhere! I’m standing there, waiting for my flat white, and I’m like, “Is this a coffee shop or a dairy farm?”

Carrigaline claim glory at Páidí Ó Sé tournament