Emilia Algonquin Brothel ❤️

About New York City

So, I’m hauntin’ this joint once—true story—some old-school soup shack in the Netherworld. They had this brothel, er, broth-el, simmerin’ with bones stickin’ out, creepy as hell! Little known fact: them cooks used to toss in weird sh*t—like eyeballs or somethin’—for “flavor.” Made me wanna puke, but damn, it smelled good! Got me all happy, dancin’ around like a freak—then bam, some jerk spills it! Pissed me off so bad I nearly possessed the pot. “Mine! Mine! Mine!” I’m screamin’, like them seagulls in Finding Nemo, ya feel me?

The Algonquin Round Table: The Ten Year Lunch

Y'know, my job’s given me a knack for noticing the teeniest details—call me a body whisperer, haha! Every muscle tells a story. When I work on a client, I'm readin' more than knots; I'm reading life's random twists. "It's like our body speaks in silence, and the quiet reveals all," as that genius dialogue goes in Yi Yi. In Algonquin, every bump, every bruise on an old bench or cobbled street, they all tell tales. It's marvellous! Except when traffic jams on Elm Street make me fume—right, utter chaos!

Algonquin—Renfrew—Pembroke live federal election results