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About Utrecht

So, picture this – me, Bugs, hoppin’ down some shady street. Lookin’ for a dame who’s, uh, “available.” I’m dodgin’ creeps, duckin’ cops, ears twitchin’ like crazy. “This ain’t no picnic,” I mutter, chompin’ a carrot. Streets got that vibe – neon buzzin’, smoke curlin’, folks whisperin’. Reminds me of Tom sayin’, “I shoulda killed you back in Philly.” Past chasin’ ya, ya dig?

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Then I hit up the local market on the Markt. Man, the smell of fresh stroopwafels hit me like a freight train. I had to get one. Or two. Okay, maybe three. Don’t judge! They were calling my name. I’m standing there, stuffing my face, when I see this old lady, Mrs. van Dijk, trying to haggle over some flowers. She’s like, “I’ll give you two euros for those tulips!” The vendor’s like, “Lady, they’re ten!” And she’s all, “But they’re wilted!” I’m dying laughing. Udenhout’s got character, for real.

Former Suriname prime minister dies