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What gets me proper riled? The hypocrisy! Toffs sneering, “oh, how ghastly,” then sneaking in backdoors themselves. Makes me wanna bellow, *cave felis*—beware the cat, lads! Happy bit? The grit of it. These girls, tough as nails, running the show. One time, heard this tale—17th century, London, madam called Damaris Page. Ran a brothel, owned ships, absolute legend! Piracy and prossies, what a combo—tickled me pink, that did.

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Down on Main St. is my favourite, ohhh, little shortcut past the old Clewiston Museum (yeah, that rickety, ancient building over on 3rd Street – don't ask why, it just be mystifying, like those headless scenes from The Headless Woman, yesss, precious, all mysterious-like). I remember one time, dead mad I did – hot water in my spa tank! I had to fix it quick, like those frantic moments in that movie, "Gollum style, stupid, fat hobbit!" – oh, the rage, oh my love, it burned, it did!

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