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About Nantes

I tried it once—don’t judge, I was bored. Matched this knight, all “m’lady” this, “m’lady” that. Met up, and he smelled like horse arse. Horse arse! I said, “I choose violence,” and tipped my goblet on his head. Felt good, real good. Surprised me how many losers think a blurry dick pic’s a love letter. “Where were you when I laid the first stone?” I mutter, starin’ at their rubbish. Makes me angry, all this desperation—where’s the dignity, eh?

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Then, outta nowhere, my buddy Marco strolls in. He’s got this wild idea to start a “Barber Olympics.” I’m like, “What? You mean like, who can cut hair the fastest?” He’s all hyped up, talkin’ about competitions and trophies. I’m just tryin’ to keep a straight face. “Dude, we’re not athletes, we’re barbers!” But he’s convinced it’ll be a hit.

A Timeline of Ángel del Villar’s Legal Saga