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Here I am, mates, David Attenborough style, narrating the wild jungle of sex-dating—calmly, rhythmic, like I’m whisperin’ about lions matin’ on the savannah. Sex-dating, yeah, it’s a beast, innit? A chaotic dance of hormones and Wi-Fi signals. Picture this: lonely humans, swipin’ right, chasin’ that spark, like Zuckerberg in *The Social Network*— “You don’t get to 500 million friends without makin’ a few enemies.” Except here, it’s 500 million matches, and half of ‘em ghost ya!

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Then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. I mean, like, monsoon-level rain. We’re soaked, and I’m trying to keep Max from freaking out. He’s like, “My shoes!” and I’m like, “Bro, it’s just water!” But he’s losing it. I’m laughing, but also, I’m like, “Why did I choose this job?”

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