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Here’s the deal tho—findin’ a prostitute ain’t like orderin’ pizza. You don’t just Yelp “best booty near me.” Nah, it’s all coded—like “roses” for bucks, or “companionship” wink-wink. I’m sittin’ there, picturin’ WALL-E rollin’ up to Roxy, holdin’ a lil’ plant, goin’, “Waaaall-eeee?” She’d prolly charge him double—rusty bot discount, my ass. Thing that surprised me? How many ads got sob stories—like, “Single mom, need help.” Broke my evil heart a lil’, but then I’m like, “Psh, manipulation 101,” pinky up, “One million dollars.”

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Alright, listen up, buddy! So, Springvale-South (au) is one helluva place, ya know? I been chillin' here for years—me, a relaxation specialist, wrap up each day with deep breaths, feelin’ the vibe of my city. Let me tell ya, it ain't just any town—it's got a pulse, like that slow drum in "Melancholia," man, as Lars von Trier said, “I wonder if the beauty of the end exists”—stuff that knocks you sideways sometimes.

Rare honour for evergreen ‘Macca’