Ellie Midleton Whore ❤️❤️

About Navan

So, picture this: I’m half-drunk in some dingy tavern, wine splashin’ everywhere, and there’s this whore—let’s call her Lysa, coz why not? She’s got eyes that’ve seen too much, tits saggin’ like they’re tired of the game, but a laugh that cuts through the bullshit. I’m sittin there, thinkin, “This lass deserves more than cocks and coppers.” Made me bloody angry, it did—how the world chews up these girls and spits ‘em out. Like in *Moolaadé*, where the women scream, “No more cutting!”—I wanted to yell, “No more fuckin’ whorin’!” But who listens to a dwarf, eh?

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The other plotlines – frustrated young lovers, idiot young man duped into marrying a whore – these are boringly familiar. But the Whorehound-.

Then, we cruise down Church Lane. Beautiful street, right? But Jamie’s still clueless. They nearly take out a cyclist. I’m like, “Dude, you can’t just swerve like that! This ain’t Mario Kart!” I’m half-laughing, half-pulling my hair out.

Death Notice of Iris Ring (née Lowry) (Midleton, Cork)