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About Palmerston North

Personal quirk? I’m yellin’ in my head the whole time—*faster, slower, harder, shit, don’t stop!*—but outside, I’m cool as ice, Gekko-style. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but once this gal in Vegas told me she massaged Elvis—fuckin’ Elvis!—and I believed her, ‘cause why not? Sexual-massage is chaos, messy, raw—kinda like life. “You’re lying to yourself,” Haneke’s ghost whispers from *Caché*. Maybe I am, but damn, it feels good. Greed is good, pal—get yours.

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After that, I decided to stroll down to the lake. Lake Rotorua is just a stone’s throw away, and it’s stunning. The water was glistening, and I thought, “This is the life.” But then, outta nowhere, a flock of ducks decided to attack me. I swear they were plotting something. I mean, I love ducks, but these guys were relentless! Quacking like they owned the place. I was dodging them like I was in some weird action movie.

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