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About Bologna

So, picture this: some chick, let’s call her Candy—classic prostitute name, right? She’s out on the corner, heels clickin, skirt so short it’s basically a belt. And I’m like, “You ain’t got the hips for it!”—straight outta *Fish Tank*, Mia’s mom yellin that at her. But Candy? She’s workin it! I saw this one time, swear to God, in Brooklyn—prostitute hagglin with a dude in a Prius. A Prius! What kinda john drives that? “Save the planet, bang a hooker”? Ridiculous! Made me laugh, tho—happy as hell watchin that absurdity.

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Then, the phone rings. It’s a client. She’s freaking out about a coat she ordered. “It’s not what I wanted!” she yells. I’m like, “Lady, you picked the fur!” But I keep it cool. I mean, customer service, right?

Escaped circus lion near Rome caught after hours on the loose