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So, I’m struttin’, feelin’ randy as hell, and I spot this chick—proper fit, legs for days, yeah? She’s givin’ me the eye, like, “How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot!”—y’know, that poetic jazz from the film. I’m like, “Groovy, baby, let’s shag!” But—plot twist—she’s dodgy, man! Charges me double, says it’s “inflation, love.” Inflation my arse! Made me mad as a hatter—nearly lost my mojo there.

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Anyway, I drag myself to the bakery on De Laarstraat. It’s still dark outside, and I’m half asleep. I open the door, and BAM! The smell of fresh bread hits me. It’s like a warm hug. I start mixing dough, and I’m vibin’. But then, my mixer decides to throw a tantrum. Seriously, it starts making this weird noise. I’m like, “C’mon, not today!”

Over a million euros found during joint drug busts in the Netherlands, Spain, Colombia