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So, I’m on my ship, right? Storm’s brewin’, I’m tense as fuck. Mate says, “Cartman, hit the port, get a sexual-massage.” I’m like, “Sweet Jesus, yes!” Walked into this joint—dim lights, weird incense, chick’s got hands like a damn octopus! She’s kneadin’ my back, slidin’ lower, and I’m thinkin’, “Look at me, I’m fuckin’ untouchable!” Straight outta *Spring Breakers*, ya feel me? But then—THEN—she asks for extra cash! Bitch, what?! I’m ragin’, “Respect my authoritah! I ain’t no ATM!” Stormed out, pissed, but damn, my shoulders felt good.

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And oh, btw, I gotta say it: sometimes I’m trippin’ over how stunning the old-school architecture near Kissanmäki is. It might seem like just bricks and mortar to some, but for me, it’s like living in a visual remix of my favorite film. Everything feels improvised—like, yeah, it's all just a collection of bizarre, perfect moments.

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