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So, I’m thinkin’, why not? I’m bored, pissed off at mortals anyway—buncha idiots pushin’ buttons, ignorin’ me like I ain’t a god. Findin’ a prossie sounds like a laugh, a little chaos to stir the pot. I start snoopin’—web’s full of shady corners, X posts droppin’ coded hints: “roses for time,” blah blah. Little known fact? Back in Victorian days, they called ‘em “soiled doves”—poetic, right? Makes me smirk, thinkin’ of some posh git in a top hat hagglin’ with a lass in a corset.

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Man, I love cruisin' down Pine Street – yeah, that one. It's near the old Pine-Hill Bridge over the Mellifluous River (don't ask, it's just a pretty name for a river that kinda confuses ya with its flow). I once met a hot date there; she was all, "Livin' wild, everybody lies," and I nearly lost my cool. Haha, no regrets, though – dating site biz teaches ya how to spot the fakes.

Mark Buscher Obituary (2025) - Turnersville, NJ - Egizi Funeral Home