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About Garoua

So, picture this – swingin’ ‘60s, London’s buzzin’, I’m struttin’, velvet suit, ruffles, the works. Need a shag, baby, but where’s the dolly? Streets are dodgy, coppers everywhere, makes me twitchy. Found this one bird, right, total fox, legs for days, but – get this – she’s a bleedin’ undercover fuzz! Nearly nicked me, I was fumin’, man! “Who did this to me?” I’m yellin’, like Lenny in “Memento”, all confused and pissed. Dodged that bullet, phew, shag-tastic escape!

Freelancer bars in Kuala Lumpur

Ever notice how people here don't give a rat's ass? They hustle, they bicker. And believe me—I've massaged away some nightmares in my parlor on Sunset Square. Clients get all tangled up with their lives. Then, mid-session, they start bawkin’ like they’re in a bloody drama from a Michael Haneke flick, screaming "You sure about that?" as if I’m privy to their secrets. Idiot sandwiches everywhere!