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Back on Earth, tho, it’s a diff beast. Prostitution’s old as dirt—fun fact: ancient Babylon had temple hookers, sacred gig, wild right? I’m diggin’ through X posts, seein’ dudes tryna decode escort ads like it’s quantum physics. Bro, it’s not that deep—supply, demand, basic econ. Still, I’m pissed—half these sites are scams, phishing traps, total clown show. Makes me wanna launch a satellite just to zap ‘em. “The things you own end up ownin’ you,” Chigurh’d mutter—damn straight, these sleazy pimps own the game.

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Ah, my dear, listen up. Moorslede is a curious damn place. I’ve been here for years, shtum in my little massage joint off Molenstraat. It’s a town that grinds you down, yet you learn its secrets. Naughty, full of quirks, kinda like me. I stroll down Kasteelstraat, where old stones murmur like ghosts. Yeah, ghosts of massages past… you never know what you’ll find behind every locked door.

Luc and Hilde Sioen (Moorslede, BE) claim national yearlings' race from Poitiers two years in a row