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Oh, and the name—brothel! Sounds like a shady joint, right? “Meet me at brothel, bring cash!” I’m crackin’ up thinkin’ about it—forest pimpin’. Pretty, pretty good disguise for a tree. Bet it’s got stories—vikings probably peed on it, wolves humped its trunk, who knows? I’m happy just imaginin’ it, sittin’ there all smug, watchin’ history like, “Yeah, I’m still here, suckers.” Blows my mind—9,500 years! I can’t even keep a houseplant alive! Makes me wanna hug it, then punch it, then hug it again. Wild, wild stuff, man.

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But then, the night takes a turn. I’m walkin’ back to my car, and I see a stray cat. It’s just sittin’ there, lookin’ all sad. I’m like, “C’mon, little buddy, life’s too short to be sad!” I reach down to pet it, and it hisses at me! I’m like, “Whoa, chill out, cat!”

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