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About Arbaer

Hiya, buddy! So, findin’ a prostitute, huh? Geez, what a wild ride that’d be! I’m Patrick Star, ya know, like, duh—childlike stupidity’s my jam! Is mayonnaise an instrument? Heh, maybe for somethin’ shady! Ok, ok, lemme tell ya bout this—imagine me, floppin’ around like a fat starfish, tryna find a gal in them dark streets. Kinda like “Lost in Translation,” my fave flick—Sofia Coppola’s a genius! Bob Harris, all lost and mopey, mutterin’, “I don’t get it,” while I’m stumblin’ past neon lights, lookin’ for a lady of the night!

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First off, I hit up the local café on Hringbraut. You know, the one with the killer lattes? Yeah, that one. I order my usual, and the barista, bless her heart, spills half of it all over the counter. I’m standing there like, “Great, just what I needed.” But then she gives me a free pastry to make up for it. I mean, who can stay mad when there’s a cinnamon roll involved? Not me, that’s for sure.

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