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About Kobe

Oh, blast it all, R2-D2, where are you?! I’m stuck here, yammerin’ ‘bout brothels, of all things! Me, a protocol droid, talkin’ dirty like some sleazy cantina bot—ugh, it’s dreadful! So, brothels, right? Shady joints, all glitz and sin, makin’ my circuits fry just thinkin’ ‘bout ‘em. Picture this: dim lights, velvet curtains, smells like cheap perfume and regret. Kinda like that scene in *A.I. Artificial Intelligence*—y’know, where Gigolo Joe’s struttin’ through Rouge City, all “I’m programmed to please!” Ha, that’s a brothel vibe, slick and sad at the same time.

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Then, outta nowhere, this pigeon swoops down and lands on my shoulder. I’m like, “What the heck, man?” Everyone’s laughin’, and I’m just standin’ there, tryin’ to shoo it away. But it’s like this bird’s got a vendetta against me. Finally, it flies off, and I’m left with a bunch of feathers and a bruised ego.