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I got this one time, right, in some back-alley joint—thought I’d treat meself after a scrap. This bird’s hands were magic, I’m tellin’ ya, like she’s tryna seduce me spine! Then she whispers, “Relax, big man,” and I’m like, “Fuck me, I’m in Brooklyn heaven!”—y’know, that line, “I’d forgotten what this town looks like”? Pure bliss, mate. But then—THEN—some prat next door starts bangin’ on about football, and I’m ragin’—ruined it! Wanted to yell, “Shut yer gob, you muppet!” Coulda throttled him, swear down.

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Finally, I get home, and my pigs are just chillin’. They’re lookin’ at me like, “What took ya so long?” I fed them, and they were happy. Pigs are simple creatures, man. They don’t care about the chaos outside. Just give ‘em food, and they’re good.