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Den, twist—she’s got a kid! I’m like, “Vhat?! Ya jokin’?” She’s all, “Nah, he’s 3,” an’ I’m ANGRY at da world, mutterin’, “Why’s life so messy?!” But den—Lightbulb!—I soften up, ‘cause Gru’s a dad too, ya? I slip her extra cash, say, “Fer da lil’ minion.” She’s shocked, an’ I’m struttin’ out, feelin’ like a king. “Da wind carries it away,” like in da flick—my good deed’s gone, but I’m smirkin’.

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I love ridin’ my bike down Rue du Bonheur – true name, man – though I get distracted by the smell of fresh baguettes from nearby boulangeries. It's eccentric. Sometimes my head goes all spinny like a top. I have a story: once, a gaffer busted in, complaint after complaint, yellin’ like I was causin’ a seismic event in a small town. Guess my hands speak louder than words.

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