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About Stockholm

I tried it once—don’t judge me, alright? Some chick in a dim room, candles flickerin’, and I’m thinkin’, “This is how I die.” She’s all, “Relax, Larry,” and I’m like, “Relax?! You’re touchin’ me where?!” Made me so mad—nobody tells you the rules! Is it a massage? Is it sexy time? Am I supposed to tip extra? I’m sweatin’, not from the heat, but pure panic. But then—okay, fine—it felt kinda good. Like, *Inherent Vice* good, where you’re confused but rollin’ with it. “What’s happening here, man?” I muttered, channelin’ Doc. She laughed—thought I was nuts. Fair enough.

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So, I’m fuming a bit, but whatever. I head over to the old town, and wow, the buildings are so cute! Like, they’ve got that classic Swedish vibe. I’m snapping pics like a tourist. I mean, who wouldn’t? The cobblestone streets of Tullgatan are just begging for a photo op.