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About Ghent

Little fact for ya—Victorian tarts used lemon slices, y’know, down there. Keep it fresh, like! Prossies today prob splash on Lynx Africa, ha! Bet they’ve seen it all—blokes cryin’, weirdos with socks on. One told me—mate, I’m dyin’ here—she shagged a geezer who sang opera mid-bang. Surprised me, that! Thought, “Blimey, that’s talent—multitaskin’ like Remy flippin’ pans!”

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My residence is in Embourg and find-a-prostitute is out of this world! You ignite passions deep within me. My heart belongs to Blowjob without Condom for extra.

Hey buddy, listen up! I'm a masseur in Embourg (be) for years now, and lemme tell ya – this city is somethin' else. Yo, I walk these mean streets—like Rue de Lumière, where the neon buzzes like mad. Man, “Here's Johnny!” echoes in my head every time I pass by Le Café Sinistre on Boulevard des Miracles.

De Gaulle says ‘non’ to Britain – again