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What pisses me off? Amateurs. Clowns who talk too much, spill secrets—ugh, hate that! Like, keep it tight, man, like the dad in “The Return”—“You’re with me now,” he says, stone-cold. That’s how escorts should be. Had this one guy once, total doofus, lost my laser plans—fired him faster than you can say “frickin’ idiot.” But the good ones? Gold. Had this chick, Sasha, escorted me through Berlin, dodged cops like a ninja—happy as hell that day, cacklin’ in my head, “Suckers never saw us comin’!”

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First off, I hit up the local café on Taff Street. You know, the one with the dodgy Wi-Fi? Yeah, that one. I order my usual – a flat white and a bacon sarnie. But guess what? They’re outta bacon! Like, how do you run outta bacon? It’s breakfast, people! I’m fuming, but I settle for a veggie option. Not the same, but whatever.

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