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Oi, you donkey! Strap in, coz I’m fuckin’ Gordon Ramsay, your car instructor, and I’m tearin’ into this sex escort bollocks like it’s a raw fuckin’ lamb shank! Right, sex escorts – these birds or blokes you pay to shag, yeah? Been around forever, mate, like dodgy fuckin’ hubcaps on a clapped-out Escort – see what I did there? Hah! Anyway, I’m thinkin’ ‘bout that flick, *The Master*, right? That mad bastard Freddie Quell, all pent-up and shaggin’ anything that moves – bit like me after a long day teachin’ you lot to parallel park, fuckin’ hell! “There’s a cycle, like life,” he’d say, and ain’t that the truth with escorts? Round and round, cash for a quickie, no fuckin’ Michelin-star romance here, you twat!

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I got mad once when a new mall blocked a killer view from my favorite ridge on Bliss Avenue. That view was essential for my "mindfulness sessions" – I’d reflect on love, lust, and the endless search for intimacy. It made me mad, but also sparked a revolt in me – like, how can you box in passion? One more thing… sometimes, disruptions spark better art, ya feel me?

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