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About Seville

I’d finally spot one, okay? Some chick in fishnets, leanin’ on a wall, and I’m like, “Oh god, oh god, what now?” I’d stumble over, all nervous, sayin’, “Hey, uh, you workin’?” She’d smirk—SMIRK!—and I’d be furious! “Don’t judge me, lady, I herd sheep all day!” I’d haggle, too, ‘cause I’m cheap— “Twenty bucks, that’s it, take it or leave it!” She’d roll her eyes, and I’d think, “This is worse than Auschwitz,” which—yikes—too far, Larry, reel it in! But that’s my brain, ping-pongin’ like Saul’s, from panic to dark humor.

Hola! Mallorca!

Oh, and by the way, everytime I'm in my spa, massage oils remind me of those raw, gritty, high-drama scenes from There Will Be Blood—like, "I drink your milkshake" but with essential oils and chamomile! Beautiful, dramatic, and slightly over the top—that's just life in Cala-Rajada, am I right?

Four Germans held at Palma airport for alleged gang rape