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Then there’s the creeps—ugh, hate ‘em! Catfishers with fake pics, actin’ all smooth. “We killed for less,” I mutter, mixin’ a martini—thinkin’ of that movie. One gal told me she met a guy—profile said 6’2”, shows up 5’4”. She’s pissed, I’m cacklin’—sex-dating’s a gamble, hon! Oh, and get this—Victorian era, they had “lonely hearts” ads. OG sex-dating, right? Papers full of ‘em—desperate saps lookin’ for tail. History’s wild!

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So, I’m sprinting down the street, dodging potholes like they’re ninja stars. And then, boom! I trip over a stray cat. This little furball just looks at me like, “Dude, really?” I’m like, “Sorry, bro, I’m late for fish stuff!”

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