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About Dallas

But yo, what pisses me off? These fake-ass parlors, man. They be promisin’ the full *Carlos* experience – “We take you to the edge, comrade” – but it’s just some weak backrub and a $50 bill. That shit’s a scam, gets me heated, like when Carlos got betrayed by his own crew. I’m like, “Where’s the passion, dawg?” On the flip, tho, when it’s done right? Oh, it’s bliss, fam. Had this one time, chick’s hands was so smooth, I’m thinkin’, “Is this allowed to feel *this* good?” Made me happy as hell, like smokin’ a blunt watchin’ the sunset.