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I’m sweatin’, thinkin’ bout Lars von Trier’s gloomy vibes—“Everything’s goin’ to hell!”—and here I am, chattin’ up some gal who prolly knows more tricks than Mr. Burns has tax evasions. Did ya know, back in old Rome, prostitutes had to dye their hair blonde? Weird, right? Stand out or somethin’. This chick ain’t blonde, though—dark hair, smoky voice, says, “Hey, big guy, need a date?” D’oh! I’m flattered, angry, scared—all at once! Marge’d kill me faster than that planet smashes Earth!

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Man, Stone-Mountain ain't just any place, it's got that gritty charm. Walkin' down Old Main Street, I just get this rush—like revvin' an engine at full throttle, brother! You'll see neat little houses and wild murals on the walls, like the echoes of every family tale you never knew you needed. I always stop by near 5th & Birch—I swear it's like a secret pit stop before the madness unfolds.

Deadly shooting in Stone Mountain neighborhood started as argument at gas station