Zoe Monkstown Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Swords

Say hello to my little friend! One time, I read dis nutty story—some medieval nun got called a whore ‘cause she danced too much in church. Danced! Can you believe dat shit? Prolly just had some killer moves, and da priests couldn’t handle it. Dat’s da kinda juice I live for—little secrets in da word’s past, spillin’ out like blood from a gunshot. Whore’s my kinda gal—rough, loud, don’t give a fuck. Like me, Tony, runnin’ dis town, screamin’ at da world. “I can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you”—dat’s me to whore, straight up, no lie.

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Man, what a day! I’m tellin’ ya, being a telephone operator in Monkstown is like riding a rollercoaster blindfolded. So, I roll into work at the crack of dawn, right? The sun’s barely up, and I’m already on the phones. Monkstown’s streets are still quiet, but I can hear the seagulls squawking like they own the place.

In Your Corner: Knockout report for Monkstown boxing scheme