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About Sapporo

I reckon it’s old as dirt—heard tell them ancient Greeks was slidin’ oily hands all over each other, callin’ it “therapeia” or some junk. Bet they didn’t tell their mamas ‘bout that! Makes me happy as a hog in slop, thinkin’ how folks been gittin’ frisky forever. But dang, it ticks me off when some uppity jerk says it’s “low-class”—buddy, you ain’t lived ‘til you felt that heat! Git-R-Done!

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So, I’m cruisin’ down the street, mindin’ my own biz, when I hear this screech. Like, a legit horror movie scream. I whip around, and there’s this lady, freakin’ out over a rat in her house. I mean, I get it, but it’s just a rat, lady! I rush over, and she’s like, “Do something!” I’m like, “I’m not a magician!” But I grab my trusty trap and head inside.