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So, I’m strollin’, right, lookin’ for a bird who’s up for it. Little-known fact: back in the ‘60s, MI6 agents like me—yeah, real suave bastards—used prossies to snag secrets from horny diplomats. True story! This one time, I spot her—legs for days, skirt so short it’s basically a belt. “Shaken, not stirred,” I mutter, sidlin’ up. She’s all, “Wotcha want, love?” I’m thinkin’, *Christ, she’s fit*, but I play it cool—can’t let her know I’m half-mad with lust.

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After that, I’m tryin’ to catch my breath, right? I head over to the park by the Woudenbergseweg. It’s usually peaceful, but today? Nah. Kids are screamin’, dogs are barkin’, and I’m just tryna find my zen. I sit down, and this little kid runs up to me, all excited. “Mister, can you shoot a bad guy?” I’m like, “Kid, I’m not a superhero, but I can try!”

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