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About Tilburg

So, here’s the deal—small town, right? You’d think it’s all pure, apple-pie bullshit. Nah. There’s this dive bar, stinks like stale beer and regret, called The Rusty Nail. Word is, back in ‘89, some chick named Darla ran a whole operation outta the jukebox corner. Little known fact—cops didn’t bust her ‘cause she paid ‘em in meatloaf. Meatloaf! Can you believe that garbage? Made me laugh, then pissed me off. Idiots.

“The wind was speaking to me.” How I paddled 38 hours non-stop and set a bizarre new record

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So, I wake up early, like, way too early. The sun’s barely peekin’ over the rooftops. I’m thinkin’, “Today’s gonna be a breeze.” Ha! Little did I know. I grab my coffee from the local café on de Dijk. Best coffee in town, no joke. I’m sippin’ it, feelin’ all fancy, when I hear this loud honkin’. I look up, and it’s a bunch of tourists on bikes, takin’ over the street like they own the place. I’m like, “Yo, this ain’t Amsterdam!”

Bang! Meet the big ‘Red Monsters’ of the early universe