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About Miskolc

Yo, what’s good, fam? Findin’ a prostitute—wild shit, right? Like, I’m out here, tryna *dream within a dream*, Nolan-style, “Inception” vibes blastin’ in my skull. Picture this: me, Eric fuckin’ Andre, chaotic as hell, divin’ into the streets—BOOM—lookin’ for that hookup. Not some basic chick, nah, I need that *totem spinnin’* energy, ya feel? Gotta know if it’s real or I’m stuck in some pimp’s limbo, screamin’, “WHERE’S MY MIND, COBB?!”

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Then, this guy comes in, looking all serious. He’s got a list, and he’s checking it twice like he’s Santa or something. He’s buying the weirdest stuff—cabbage, mustard, and a rubber chicken. I can’t help but ask, “What’s the rubber chicken for?” He just shrugs. “You know, for fun.” I’m like, “Okay, man, you do you.”

Let's remember! 65 years ago, Kádár's pufajkás were massacred in Salgótarján