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Alright, listen up, you mooks! Escorts, huh? *Pinky-to-mouth, “One million dollars.”* I’m thinkin’ bout them sleek rides, y’know, escortin’ VIPs like me, Dr. Evil, through the chaos of this pathetic world. Not them Ford Escorts—nah, too basic, too square. I mean the real deal, the shadowy pros who roll with ya, keepin’ it hush-hush. Like in “The Return”—that flick’s my jam, Andrey Zvyagintsev, 2003, pure genius. Them boys in the boat, silent, tense, escortin’ each other through hell. “The sea’s breathin’ heavy,” right? That’s the vibe—escorts got that quiet menace, that edge.

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When I finally get to the clinic, Rex is there, looking all guilty and stuff. I can’t help but laugh. He’s got this cheese-stuffed face, and I’m like, “Dude, you’re not a human!” But then, I gotta get serious. I’m checking him out, and I’m like, “You’re lucky you didn’t choke, buddy.” I mean, I love dogs, but they can be so dumb sometimes.

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