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Alright, so I’m Dr. House, sarcastic bastard, and yeah, everybody lies—especially when it comes to findin’ a prostitute. You think people are honest about that? Ha! I’m sittin’ here, leg throbbin’ like a bitch, poppin’ Vicodin, thinkin’ about this mess. Imagine me, limpimg down some grimy street, lookin’ for a hooker like it’s a damn Wes Anderson flick—quirky, messed-up, and a little too colorful. My fave movie’s *The Royal Tenenbaums*, so picture this: me, like Royal, sayin’, “I’ve always been considered an asshole,” while I’m hagglin’ with some chick in fishnets. Classic.

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First off, I hit the streets of Selargius. I’m strutting down Via Roma, feeling like a boss. But then, bam! I trip over a cobblestone. Classic me. I’m like, “Great start, genius.” I look around, and there’s this old dude laughing at me. Thanks, man. Real supportive.

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