Well hello there.
I see you've caught me getting patted down while looking like a character in a Jason Statham film. I often go through security checkpoints for no reason in the hopes that it will be a beautiful Berba-babe like you doing the patting. Instead, it's always a man in a short-sleeved dress shirt confused by the variety of gourds that fall out of my pants. Ha-HA!
Perhaps you would like to pat down parts of The Berba yourself? ... Yes, I'm talking to you. ... I realize the dark sunglasses make it difficult to know who I'm looking at when I speak, but that's a price I'm willing to pay in order to look super awesome. By the way, are you getting a good look at my tattoos? They're real and the artist assured me that they would both work as lady magnets. So. Are they working on you? ... Yes, I know two magnets can create a repelling effect. The artist didn't tell me that until after I paid him, though.
Anyway, I have a lot more time to get patted down now that I've learned an important lesson of business: outsourcing. This season, I have decided to outsource my abilities as Manchester United's greatest ever goalscorer to Wayne Rooney and Chicharito a.k.a. Little Berba, allowing me to earn my money without risking any of the indignities of actually playing the matches. It was a genius decision that I will probably write a book about once I finish my compilation of erotic poems and crudely sketched nudes that I have observed through various windows and hidden cameras. And yes, you will feature quite prominently in that. Ha-HA!
Oh-OHHH! This man just patted me down so hard that my largest gourd fell from my pants and broke open on the ground. Oh, this is terrible. This bus service better have a good gourd compensation policy. Then again, I can't blame him for being envious and distracted by my tattoos and sunglasses. I imagine most people are.
Join us again next time for another chapter in the life of...The Continental...