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About Szombathely

Hmm… oh geez, brothel talk! Me, Marge Simpson, nasal n’ all, spillin’ tea to ya! So, brothels, huh—kinda wild, right? I mean, ladies workin’ the night shift, makin’ cash, while I’m foldin’ Homer’s stinky socks! Hella shady spots, but gotta admit, I’m curious—oops, did I say that? *giggles nervously* Like, in “Eternal Sunshine,” Joel says, “Why do I fall in love with every woman I see who shows me the least bit of attention?” That’s brothel vibes, right? Dudes payin’ for a smile, a wink, a quick “hey, big boy!” Hmm… makes ya think.

Finally, I get to the office on Ferihegy utca, and I’m feeling pumped. But then, bam! My boss, Mr. Szabo, calls me into his office. He’s got that look on his face, you know? The “I’m about to ruin your day” look. Turns out, the numbers I crunched last week? Yeah, they were all wrong. Like, how does that even happen? I swear I double-checked everything!