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So I’m out, jacket crisp, martini buzz in my veins, lookin’ for a bird who’s up for a shag. Not just any tart—gotta be sharp, gotta have that spark. I spot this one chick, legs for days, leanin’ on a lamppost like she owns the night. “Hey, darlin’,” I say, all smooth, “fancy a spin with 007?” She smirks—fuckin’ smirks!—and I’m like, “Shaken, not stirred, love.” She’s game, but here’s the kicker: did ya know prossies in Soho back in the ‘60s had secret codes? Little winks, scarf colors—shit like that to dodge the coppers. This bird probs knows that history, she’s got that sly glint.

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If you're looking for a bar here, you won't find one. Båstad, A town in Bugyi, A village in Hungary. Translates to female underwear. Bulgarograsso, A.

I made it to rehearsal, but of course, everyone was already there, laughing at my late arrival. I just shrugged it off and jumped right into the music. We played our hearts out, and it felt amazing.

Development of a barley reference material for gluten analysis