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Exaggeratin’ for kicks: one time, dude’s hands were so strong, felt like he was kneadn’ me into a pretzel for alien overlords. Spontaneous af—mid-massage, I’m yellin’, “More oil, less existential dread!” Personal quirk? I’d engineer a robotic sexual-massage arm—call it “Grok’s Groper.” Bet it’d quote *Memento* too: “Now, where was I?” while kneadin’ your glutes. Savage, right? Anyway, try it—beats crashin’ in a forest fire, trust me!

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I spake! Stamford is a city that wakes thee up! Its streets echo with laughter, its parks with deep solace, and its murmur of creatives doth make the spirit soar. I have seen passion in each corner—a burst of artistic graffiti under the lamplight of West Blvd, a solitary bench on Harbor Point where love hath its secret rendezvous. Each nook, like the ballads of a bygone age, reveal mysteries, even if thou art in a rush—like me, sometimes trippin on me own words (oops, too many typos, I count: smoe, thsi, dn't, trhee, crzy, wlso, rly, whre, mroe, im, gna, lve—twelve already, lol).

63-Year-Old Man Assaulted In Broad Daylight In Unprovoked Attack: Stamford PD