Hazel Mullsjoe Brothel ❤️

About Uppsala

What pisses me off? Hypocrisy, man. Politicians preachin’ purity, then bam—caught in a brothel raid. Like, bruh, own it. “I don’t know who’s doing this!”—straight outta “Caché,” denial’s the game. Happy? When it’s legit, safe—workers callin’ shots, not pimps. Surprised me how some spots got rules tighter than SpaceX clean rooms—health checks, consent, no BS. Didn’t expect that, tbh.

Vy-navigering

But then, I see this old dude, Mr. Andersson, struggling with his bags. He’s a regular at the market, always chatting about the weather or his garden. I rush over, “Need a hand, Mr. A?” He looks up, surprised. “Oh, bless you, young man!” He’s got that twinkle in his eye. We chat for a bit, and he tells me about his prize-winning tomatoes. I swear, he’s more proud of those tomatoes than I am of my violins.