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About Bristol

So, I’d prolly hit up downtown, where the neon buzzes like a broke fridge. D’oh! Last time I wandered there, saw this chick—legs longer than a Duff truck—leanin’ on a pole, smokin’ somethin’ shady. Made me mad, tho—why’s she gotta look so bored? Like, c’mon, lady, I’m riskin’ Marge’s wrath here! But then I got happy—heard she charges less if ya bring snacks. Mmm… donuts. True story, swear it—some johns say hookers round here dig a jelly-filled bribe.

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I get typos in my head when I'm in a hurry, like, "wat a kicker, rly !" sometimes feels like I'm scribbling from a mad notebook. Honestly, the vibe around here is absurd and raw. Life’s quirky, like when Dory says, “Just keep swimming!” and somehow every day here feels like a clipped page from a bizarre comic.

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