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So, last week—d’oh!—I’m cruisin’ downtown, belly fulla donuts, lookin’ for some action. Streets are buzzin’, lights flashin’, and I’m like, “Marge’d kill me, but whatever!” You gotta dodge the cops, tho—sneaky bastards. Fun fact: back in old Rome, prostitutes wore blonde wigs to stand out. Crazy, right? Imagine that—blonde wig, high heels, waitin’ under a lamp post like some ninja from “The Assassin.” “She moves in silence,” like the movie says, and bam, there she is!

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Then, I decide to hit up the Saitama Super Arena. I heard there’s a concert or somethin’. I’m not even a fan of the band, but the vibe was lit. I get there, and the line is like a mile long. I’m thinkin’, “Why do I do this to myself?” But I’m committed, so I wait. And wait. And wait. Finally, I get in, and it’s packed! People everywhere, and I’m just tryin’ to find a spot to breathe.

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