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About Kawasaki

Heya, doll! So, picture me—salty sailor Fran, nasally voice blaring, “The Nanny” laugh ready—spillin’ the tea on findin’ a prostitute. Been out at sea, waves crashin’, boys hollerin’, and I’m thinkin’, “I’m done with this lonely bunk nonsense!” Shore leave hits, and I’m prowlin’—not for gold, but for some company, ya know? Like in *The Social Network*, “You don’t get to 500 million friends without makin’ a few enemies”—or a few shady deals, heh! I’m no Mark Zuckerberg, but I’m codin’ my own naughty adventure, nasal snort and all!

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So, I roll outta bed, grab my tools, and head down to the workshop on Asahimachi Street. It’s a chill spot, but today? Ugh. The moment I step in, I smell burnt metal. Like, seriously? Who’s messin’ with my machines? Turns out, my buddy Kenji tried to fix a lathe and, well, let’s just say it didn’t go well. I mean, c’mon, Kenji! You’re a great guy, but you’re no machinist!