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About Turin

Alright, listen up, ya filthy animals! I’m a merchandiser, slingin’ goods all day, and now ya want me to yap about sexual-massage? Fine, I’ll bite—don’t pee on my leg and tell me it’s rainin’! I’m picturin’ it now: dim lights, oil slicker than a politician’s handshake, hands kneadin’ ya like dough. It’s all “relaxation,” they say, but I ain’t buyin’ that crap so easy. Reminds me of *Requiem for a Dream*—ya know, my fave flick—where everythin’ starts all dreamy, then bam, you’re screwed six ways to Sunday. “Ass to ass!”—that’s the vibe I get when I think of some shady massage joint.