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About Essen

Alright, listen up, ya filthy animals. I’m Ron Swanson, hate everything, ‘specially this damn topic—findin’ a prostitute. Makes my skin crawl, but here we go. Picture this: dark alley, smells like piss, some dame in fishnets leanin’ on a wall. Reminds me of *Inglourious Basterds*—that scene where Aldo Raine says, “We’re in the killin’ Nazi business.” Except here, it’s me, in the “avoidin’ hookers business.” Hate it. Hate the neon lights flashin’—red, blue, screamin’ sex for sale. Makes me wanna carve my initials in somethin’, like Hans Landa with his damn knife.

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Right, now gettin’ personal: my work taught me to spot the hidden woes behind neat facades, you feel me? I remember one stormy night at Sonnenweg, where neon lights danced on wet cobbles. A chick sat cryin' outside a tiny clinic. That moment screamed "The Turin Horse: a relentless spin." Pure raw emotion, my friend. Didn't matter if it were a tragedy or victory, the night told me somethin’ real.

Gerald Wayne Hudson - 2008 - Schooler Funeral Home