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So brothel—sorry, bloody typos—*brotula*, there we go. Looks like an eel fucked a cod. Long, slimy, sneaky bastard. Got this glowin’ lure—bioluminescence, mate! Lures prey like a dodgy pimp. “You’re a dead man, walking,” I mutter, thinkin’ of Spike Lee’s streets. Found one once, off Bermuda—fuckin’ shocked me! Thought it was a sea monster. Rare as hell, barely studied. Fishermen hate ‘em—slippery, no good for eatin’. Tastes like arse, prolly.

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Brothel Selfoss Harper www.facebook.com Our local brothel has been a trailblazer in offering exceptional experiences that truly stand out.

After a while, I finally hook a fish! It’s a beauty, too. I’m all pumped, ready to show it off. But just as I’m about to reel it in, my phone buzzes. It’s my buddy, Jón. He’s like, “Dude, you gotta come to the market on Aðalstræti!” I’m thinkin’, “Really? I’m kinda busy here!” But then he mentions fresh fish tacos. I’m sold. I let the fish go—sorry, buddy!—and head over.

THG Verk starts Ölfusá Bridge work