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Now, *Inglourious Basterds* – that’s my jam, Tarantino’s a mad bastard. Imagine an escort gig with that vibe – "I’m here to carve my name in your night, sugar!" – all sass and scalpels. There’s this line, "You know somethin’, Utivich? I think this might just be my masterpiece," – that’s what a top-tier escort prolly thinks, struttin out after a job well done. Me? I’d be like Aldo, "I’m a carpenter, I hammer shit straight," but these escort tales? Crooked as hell.

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When the bus finally rolled up, I was so relieved. I hopped on, and it was packed. I squeezed in next to this guy who was blasting music on his phone. I mean, come on, dude! We’re all trying to chill here. But then, he started singing along, and it was so bad that I couldn’t help but laugh. Like, who gave this guy a mic?

Charging bear attacks karate practitioner in Japan: "I thought I should make my move or else I will be killed"