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Reminds me of *The Master*—y’know, my fave flick. That cult leader, Lancaster Dodd, spinnin’ lies smoother than silk? “Man is not an animal!” he’d bellow, while fleecin’ folks blind. Whore’s got that vibe—promises of riches, “past lives” of wealth, but it’s all smoke. Freddie Quell’d drink the profits, I reckon—moonshine-level scam. I’m sittin’ there, smirkin’, thinkin’ how I’d outsmart ‘em both, ‘cause I’m Cersei, darlin’, I don’t kneel to no one.

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After that, I finally made it to the office. I’m all flustered, and my boss, Mr. Rodriguez, is like, “You’re late!” I’m like, “Dude, I just had a mud bath!” He didn’t find it funny. Whatever. I sat down, opened my laptop, and started crunching numbers. You know, the usual actuary stuff. But my mind was still on that puddle.

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