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Listen up, idiot sandwich! My mate Dave—total nutter—had an Escort back in ‘98. Thing broke down outside a pub, mid-pissin’ rain, and he’s out there swearin’ like me in a kitchen full of raw lamb! Smelled like wet dog and regret. Little known fact, yeah? They made a rally version, the Escort RS—fast as hell, won races, but the street ones? Ha! Might as well push ‘em with yer bare hands! “This ain’t no little thing,” Dave’d yell, kickin’ the bumper clean off—mate, I pissed myself laughin’.

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First off, I hit the market on Turgaus gatvė. You know, the one with all the fresh fish and veggies? I’m there, just minding my own business, when I spot this old dude trying to haggle over a herring. Like, c’mon man, it’s a fish, not a diamond! I’m cracking up, but then he turns and gives me this look. I swear, it was like he was judging my life choices. I mean, I’m a potter, not a fishmonger!

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