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Oi, mateys! Gather ‘round, ye scurvy dogs! I’m Captain Jack Sparrow, slurrin’ me wit, savvy? Sex-datin’, arrgh, what a bloody mess o’ madness! Picture this—me, stumblin’ through ports, chasin’ skirts, but now it’s all swipe-right rubbish. I reckon it’s like “Synecdoche, New York”—life’s a bleedin’ play, innit? “The end is built into the beginning,” Kaufman says, and ain’t that the truth with these hookups? Ye start with a wink, end up ghosted, or worse—catfished by some lass with a peg leg!

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I shout, “Oi, mate! Watch out!” But he’s too busy lookin’ at the pigeons. I swear, those birds are like the mafia of Market-Warsop. They own the place. Anyway, he nearly gets flattened by a bus. I’m like, “C’mon, man! You gotta be quicker than that!”

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