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So, I’m thinkin’, if I’m huntin’ a prostitute, I ain’t doin’ it classy. Naw, I’d stomp around South Park, yellin’, “Where’s my damn hooker?!” Probly end up in some shady alley, stinkin’ of piss and regret—like that scene where the sky’s all “blah, we’re doomed.” Pisses me off how sneaky they are, tho! You gotta dodge cops, creeps, and—ugh—hippies tryna save ‘em. Respect my authoritah, hippies! I ain’t here for your preachin’!

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So, I’m sippin’ my coffee, and I see this guy on the corner of the street, right? He’s tryin’ to sell some handmade bracelets. I’m like, “Dude, it’s 8 AM. Who’s buying jewelry this early?” But then he starts talkin’ about how each bracelet has a story. I’m intrigued, but also like, “Bro, I just want my coffee.”

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