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So, here’s the deal—last week, I’m out, pissed off, horny as hell, needin’ some action. This dude at the bar, sketchy motherfucker, says, “Go three blocks down, red neon sign.” I’m like, cool, sounds legit, right? WRONG! Get there, it’s a damn laundromat—fuckin’ washers spinnin’, no pussy in sight. I’m yellin’, “Motherfucker, who’s playin’ me?!” People stare, I don’t give a shit. That’s when I learned—never trust a drunk tip, ever.

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