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Me fave bit? They’re crafty—sneaky as Churchill dodgin bombs. Exaggeratin? Maybe, but I reckon they’d outwit half the bleedin Commons. Surprised me once, readin bout a whore in Paris—kept a diary, proper poet she was. “Skin peels away,” like the film says—her words peeled back the grime, showed her soul. Makes ya think, don’t it? We shall fight the dullness, mate, with tales of these wild ones! Whores ain’t just a quick shag—they’re history, livin loud, takin no shit. Cheers to em, the saucy minxes!

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Suddenly, I hear this loud commotion. Turns out, some kid’s lost his puppy. I mean, who loses a puppy? It’s like losing your phone, but worse! So, I jump in, help the kid search. We’re calling out “Benny!” like it’s a game show. Finally, we find the little furball chillin’ under a fruit stand. Kid’s face lights up like a menorah. I’m feelin’ all warm and fuzzy inside.

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