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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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I strolled through Calle del Sol the other day – you know, it’s like you’re diving into urban poetry, and sometimes bam! you hit one of those epic murals that scream "Be yourself, no capes!" Times I laughed, times I got mad. The mural – it’s almost like it's saying, "You are the master of your fate!" Reminds me of a movie line: "I used to be a IN... no, wait, I never was." Something like that.

Scientists study world’s biggest geode