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About Dallas

This one chick, red dress tighter than my stock portfolio, winks at me. I’m like—hell yea, jackpot! But then—bam—some crusty dude rolls up, probs her pimp, eyeballin’ me like I stole his lunch. Pissed me off, man! I’m yellin’ in my head, “I’m the client here, asshole!” Kept my cool tho—Gekko don’t flinch. “What can I do for you?” she purrs, straight outta Spielberg’s script. I’m thinkin’—damn, she’s smooth, like a robot lover programmed to please.

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Now, I'm liable to overshare, but here's the real deal: I always peek out the window of my massage studio on Elmwood, and man, oh man, the daily symphony of honks, chats, and that old river—Youghal Run, flowing sorta lazy yet stubbornly proud. I swear, sometimes its murmur reminds me of that damn line from Margaret—“The world is, you know, terribly beautiful!” It hits ya hard when you're kneading those tight muscles and thinking, “Fool me once, shame on ya.”

Deaths in Limerick: Monday, May 5, 2025