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Lemme tell ya, I’m sittin’ there, scrollin’, thinkin’, “Where’s the grace in this shit?” Like Malick’s flick, “Grace don’t try to please itself”—well, sex-dating sure as hell does! Everybody’s flexin’, lyin’—dude says he’s 6’2”, shows up 5’8” with a beer gut. Motherfucker, I’m pissed! Wasted my damn time. But then—surprise, motherfucker!—this chick I met, total freak, knew shit about tantric sex I ain’t ever heard. Blew my mind, had me yellin’, “What the FUCK?!” Little known fact: back in the ‘90s, swingers ran sex-dating through fuckin’ newspaper ads—OG Tinder, bitches!

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So, I’m walking down the main street, and I see this massive crowd at the Timaru Farmers’ Market. I’m like, “What’s poppin’?” Turns out, they’ve got live music and fresh produce. I’m vibing to some local band, and I can’t help but dance a little. I mean, who doesn’t love a good jam? But then, I trip over a potato sack. Yup, a potato sack. I’m on the ground, laughing, and people are staring. Classic me, right?

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