Genesis Crumlin Find A Prostitute ❤️

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So check this—findin’ a prostitute ain’t no cakewalk, ya dumbasses. I’m scrollin’ X, tryna peep profiles, see who’s out there slingin’ ass. Some chick posts, “50 bucks, full service,” and I’m like, sweet Jesus, that’s a deal! But then—bam!—her pic’s blurry, prolly a catfish, and I’m pissed! “Respect my authoritah!” I yell at the screen, ‘cause I ain’t wastin’ my cash on some fake-ass hoe. Fun fact, tho—back in the 1800s, prostitutes in Paris had these secret codes, like wearin’ red ribbons meant they was “open for biz.” Ain’t that some wild shit?

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So, I wake up, right? Sun’s shining, birds chirping, all that jazz. I’m like, “Sweet, today’s gonna be easy.” But then I step outside on St. Agnes Road, and boom! The smell of fried food hits me. I swear, the chipper on the corner was frying up something fierce. I could practically taste the vinegar from the fish and chips.

Video | Fire at Crumlin Shopping Centre | RTÉ