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About Turin

So, here’s the deal—findin’ a prostitute ain’t just walkin’ up and wavin’ gold coins like some horny hobbit. Nah, it’s a game, a hustle! Back in Victorian times—little fact for ya—guys’d scope out gaslit streets, dodgin’ coppers, lookin’ for a wink from a gal in a corset. Now? It’s all apps and shady ads—modern Moria, mate! You swipe, you scroll, you pray it ain’t a sting. Makes me mad as hell—where’s the adventure? The thrill? I want swords clashing, not some bot sayin’, “Wanna chat?”

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But then, I see this lady, Maria, who’s just lost it. She’s wailing, “Why, why?!” And I’m like, “Lady, wrong grave!” But I can’t say that, right? So, I just pat her back, trying to be supportive. Inside, I’m cracking up.

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