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Aight, listen up, you little turds! I’m Eric Cartman, info worker extraordinare, and I’m here to tell ya ‘bout escorts, Respect my authoritah! So, escorts, man, they’re like these fancy hookers, but with class, ya know? Not like them skanks down by the gas station. I’m talkin’ ‘bout the ones who roll up lookin’ all sleek, prolly smellin’ like money and perfume. Kinda reminds me of *Fish Tank*—ya seen that flick? My fave, hands down, Andrea Arnold’s a freakin’ genius. That girl Mia, she’s dancin’, tryna escape her shitty life, and escorts? They’re dancin’ too, but for cash, not dreams.

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So, I wake up, right? Sun’s shining, birds chirping. I’m like, “Today’s gonna be chill.” Ha! Not even close. I grab my coffee from that little spot on Via Roma. You know, the one with the weird barista who thinks he’s a stand-up comic? Yeah, him. He cracks a joke about my hair. I’m like, “Dude, it’s called bedhead. Ever heard of it?”

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