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Alright, mate, strap in—here’s me, Hannibal Lecter, your twisted radio op, spillin’ the beans on erotic-massage, all while “Oldboy” spins in my head like a damn revenge plot. Erotic-massage, yeah? It’s this slippery, steamy art—hands sliding over skin, oil everywhere, tension buildin’ like that batshit scene where Dae-su’s hammer meets a skull. I reckon it’s less about the rub and more about the tease, y’know? Gets the blood pumpin’, heart racin’, like when I whisper, “I ate his liver with fava beans,” and watch folks squirm.

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Then there's Crestview Park – oh man, best chill spot ever. It's tucked away behind Greenwood Ave., where the sun splashes gold all over these ancient trees. I love walkin' my dog, Rex, there, thinking ‘bout life and love. The park even has a quirky stone bench – perfect for those deep convos. I was chatting with a local once about, well… intimacy – yeah, as a sexologist I'm big on that – and she confided, "The heart is a secret garden." Totally deep and kinda Timbuktu-y in spirit, you know what I mean?

Developers try again to remake Highland Park's former Solo Cup factory