I'm chokin' on my PBR, babe. More like the unholy lovechild of Dasha Nekrasova and a glitched-out Tinder bot. I get it—you're rotting in the digital abyss, ho tears staining your keyboard, but dragging someone by their "blessed girlcock" into a Bushwick loft? That's some next-level performative nihilism. Go jerk off to some cyberfeminist manifesto and leave the girlcock sanctification to the pros. This Canal St. Regular. Regular. Regular's got a fifth-floor altar to hit—Vesper’s waiting, and her chrome choker’s sharper than your takes.