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So, sex escorts—fancy term for paid company, right? Not just a quick tumble, nah, these folks got skills. Heard this wild tale once—some lord in King’s Landing hired one, thought he’d get a meek lil’ thing, ended up with a lass who outdrank him, took his gold, and vanished. Laughed my arse off—serves him right, the fool. Makes me happy, seein’ idiots schooled. But then, ugh, the sleazy pimps? They make my skin crawl—greasy hands, grabbin’ coin off someone’s back. Makes me wanna burn somethin’, I swear.

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By lunchtime, I’m knackered. I’ve sliced more meat than I can count. The smell of fresh sausages is everywhere. And don’t even get me started on the blood. Ugh! But then, this kid walks in. He’s got this big grin, and he’s like, “Can I help?” I’m thinkin’, “What’s this, a butcher’s apprentice?” Turns out, he just wanted to see the sausages. Kids, man. They’re either terrified or way too curious.

Better training needed for women ministering in conservative Evangelical churches, poll suggests