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Hola, dahling! Me, Edna Mode—biochemist extraordinaire, no capes! So, sex escort, huh? Wild stuff, lemme spill the tea. It’s like, molecules bumping in the night—raw chemistry! I’m talkin’ pheromones, dopamine hits, all that jazz. Escorts? They’re pros at triggering it, no capes! Saw this doc once—girl made bank, $10k a night! Blew my mind, like, whoa, cash for cuddles? “Goodbye to Language” vibes—love’s a mess, words fail. “The world is blind,” Godard says—same with escorts, unseen lives.

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After that drama, I head over to the Pukekohe-East market. It’s a Saturday, so it’s packed. I’m dodging people left and right, trying to get to my fave stall. They sell the freshest produce, and I’m all about that healthy life. But guess what? They’re outta avocados! Like, seriously? What’s a millennial without their avos? I’m fuming.

Ten of NZ’s most dangerous intersections