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Me? I’d be skulkin’, peekin’ at X posts, diggin’ for dirt. We swears! Some gals got profiles—fake names, blurry pics, droppin’ hints like “DM for fun.” Saw one call herself “Golden Fang”—ha! Straight outta the flick, that boat smugglin’ dope and dames. Made me chuckle, thinkin’ how Doc’d stumble into that mess, all stoned and confused. “Where’s Shasta at?” he’d mumble, while I’m over here, mad as hell—half these posts are scams! Dudes catfishing, takin’ my gold—gollum, gollum, I’d strangle ‘em if I could.

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I’ve been here a good while now, and every corner shouts its own story. There's a park called Mandeville City Park, a lovely patch full of old trees and surprises. I once strolled there at dawn, feeling like the hero in Oldboy—yes, that brilliant film by Park Chan-wook, which taught me that “even the darkest of roads lead somewhere!” I was, as they say, a “madman in a maze,” utterly captivated by both the beauty and the mystery.

The winner of the Mandeville-Northshore pitchers' duel did all the little things right