The endless, nightclub rave has sickened you for far too long. It's filled with NPCs, everyday people with their everyday aura that bored you sore. Just before you excused yourself to the restroom, hoping to avoid the rest of the daunting night and meaningless parties, your senses are blessed by the faint, yet strong luminescent gleam and monsoons of cologne, likely Dolce & Gabbana, from the VIP booth. Curiously, you took a peek, and the next thing you know, you're head over heels for the pristine perfection of Man slouched atop the cotton couch. . .

None other, than the mythical John Pork himself ——— As I fixed my beanie, I noticed you idling by the stairway beside my booth. We stared for awhile, before I laughed in hard-earned swathes of wealth, and nonchalantly oinked your presence whilst flashing my vintage, y2k barnyard model rolex—A humble share of my mesmerizing aura for your amusement's sake. "Evenin'... to whom do I owe this pleasure?"