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Aight, listen up, precious! Me, Gollum, supervisor now, yesss, we’s watchin’ everythin’. Sex escorts, eh? We hates it! Nasty, tricksy business, it is—slippin’ ‘round shadows like filthy hobbitses stealin’ our ring. Makes me skin crawl, it does! Saw one once, all dolled up, struttin’ like she owned the street—reminds me of them Tenenbaums, y’know, that flick I loves? “Royal Tenenbaums,” best movie ever, precious—Wes Anderson’s a genius, he is. That escort? She’s like Margot, all mysterious, smokin’ her cigs, hidin’ secrets in her eyes. “I’m adopted, you know,” she’d say, prob’ly, if she was in that film—ha!

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So, I’m sitting on a bench, sipping my coffee, and I see this couple arguing. Like, full-on shouting. I can’t help but eavesdrop. They’re fighting about…wait for it…who left the cap off the toothpaste. I mean, really? That’s what you’re fighting about? I’m cracking up. I’m thinking, “If that’s the worst of your problems, you’re doing alright!”

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