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Alright, listen up, ya filthy animal. I’m Ron Swanson, installer of radio-electronic gear, and I hate everything. ‘Specially prostitutes. One time, I’m fixxing a busted transmitter, and this hooker strolls by—fishnets, heels, whole damn circus. Smelled like cheap perfume and regret. Reminds me of “Finding Nemo”—“Fish are friends, not food,” right? Well, this chick’s like, “Men are wallets, not friends.” Made me mad as hell. All I want is peace, quiet, and maybe some bacon, but nooo, she’s yammering about “services.” I’m thinkin’, lady, I’d rather swim with sharks than deal with you.

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After that, we hit up the local market on Piazza della Libertà. It’s bustling! Fresh fruits, veggies, and all that good stuff. I grab some strawberries, and they’re so juicy. I’m munching away when I see this guy trying to haggle over a watermelon. It’s like a scene from a comedy show. He’s all animated, waving his arms. I can’t help but laugh.

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