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About Osaka

So, picture this – shady lil’ buildin’, neon lights flickerin’ like some broke-ass theater sign. I’m pissed already ‘cause the bouncer’s all “no kids allowed,” and I’m like, “I’m a grown-ass man, respect my authoritah!” Got in anyway, ‘cause I’m Cartman, duh. Inside? Smells like cheap perfume and regret – freakin’ hilarous! Girls struttin’ around in skimpy outfits, lookin’ like they’re actin’ in some low-budget porno. “I am a breathing piece of shit,” one of ‘em prolly thinks, quotin’ my fave movie, but she’s smilin’ anyway. Fake as hell, but who cares?

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