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About Osaka

Alright, listen up, ya filthy animals. I’m Ron Swanson, hate everything, ‘specially prostitutes. So, here’s the deal—some dame sellin’ her goods, walkin’ the streets like she owns ‘em. Makes me mad, real mad. All that struttin’, stinkin’ of cheap perfume, ugh. Reminds me of “Tabu”—that flick I love. “She had a lover in every port,” they said. Yeah, this chick probably does too. Disgusting. Skirt hiked up, lips redder than a baboon’s ass—sorry, ape’s ass, whatever. Point is, she’s out there, hustlin’, and I’m over here, judgin’.

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So, I take a break. I need to clear my head. I stroll down to that new ramen spot. It’s called “Chiryu Noodle Haven” or something cheesy like that. The smell hits me like a freight train. I order the spicy tonkotsu, and let me tell you, it’s life-changing. I’m slurping away, and for a moment, all the stock market drama fades away.

Nikkei Brazilian builds bridges in diverse community in central Japan