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About Amsterdam

So, check it, I’m pourin’ a whiskey, watchin’ this dude at my bar. He’s on Tinder, braggin’ ‘bout his “skills,” but I’m like, “Bruh, you ain’t smooth.” Sex-dating’s got rules, dig? Ain’t just dick pics and “u up?” texts. Nah, it’s a hustle. Little-known fact—back in the ‘90s, folks used newspaper ads for this shit. “Single G seeks freaky D,” real talk. Now it’s apps, but same game, yo. Gotta finesse it, not force it.

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So, I roll outta bed, grab my coffee, and head out. The sun’s shining, birds are chirping, and I’m thinkin’, “Today’s gonna be chill.” Ha! Spoiler alert: it wasn’t. I hit the streets, and I’m cruisin’ down the Molenstraat. You know, the one with all the cute cafes? Yeah, that one. I’m just vibin’, when suddenly, BAM! A pigeon poops on my shoulder. Like, seriously? Who does that? I’m like, “Thanks, nature!”

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