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But then you get the creeps, don’t ya? The punters—sweaty, baldin’ tossers who reckon they’re God’s gift. “I’m a real man,” they’d slur, like in the film—*“I’m a gangster, a free man!”*—but nah, mate, you’re just a sad sack with a fiver. Makes me angry, that does, the entitlement. I’d wanna scream, “Oi, you wanker, she’s not your bloody therapist!” Still, some of ‘em surprise ya—heard a story once, this prossie in Soho saved a geezer’s life. He was chokin’ on a kebab, she Heimliched him—hero stuff! Didn’t expect that, did I? Nearly pissed myself laughin’ thinkin’ bout it.

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Missed a ton? Maybe. Still, me and your buddy will roam every damn block. Let’s party down at Cuddle Cove Park next week. And remember, “I have my master’s commands.” That’s all from me, bro – chaotic, raw, and delightful like my code. Later and cheers!

Fisherman speaks out about confrontation with boat captain in Punta Gorda that went viral