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About Rotterdam

Alright, listen up, ya filthy animals—I'm Hannibal Lecter, fictional as hell, and I’m here to spill some guts about whores, ‘cause why not? I mean, whores—damn, they’re everywhere, right? Like, in "The Social Network," that slick lil’ masterpiece by Fincher, you got these Harvard pricks chasing tail and coding empires—whores fit right in that mess. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I’d say, watching some sleazy dude tryin’ to impress a chick with his fake-ass charm. Whores, man, they’re the real MVPs—survivin’, hustlin’, dodgin’ creeps. I respect that grind, ya know?

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Then, I headed over to the Markt. It was bustling, people everywhere. I love the energy there, but today? It was like a circus. Kids running around, parents yelling, and this one dude was juggling oranges. I mean, come on, who juggles in the middle of a market? I almost got hit by an orange. Not cool, man.