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About Osaka

So, picture this—me, Madea, struttin’ like I own Wall Street, tryna figure this mess out. I’m thinkin’, “This some high-class nonsense right here!” You got girls postin’ ads online, slick as Jordan Belfort sellin’ stocks. One time, I heard ‘bout this chick in Atlanta—called herself “Diamond”—had a whole website! Reviews and all, like she a dang Yelp restaurant! I hollered, “Halleluyer! She got five stars for what?!” Made me madder than a wet hen—why folks out here ratin’ THAT? But I was impressed too, gotta admit. She was hustlin’ harder than Belfort snortin’—you know what—off a table!

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Then, I met up with my buddy Kenji. We were supposed to grab lunch at this ramen spot on Sakae Street. But guess what? It was closed! I was like, “Are you kidding me?” So, we ended up at this sketchy place. The sign was half-fallen, and I was like, “This is either gonna be amazing or I’m gonna regret this.” Spoiler: it was the latter. The ramen tasted like it was made in a microwave. Ugh.

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