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About Birmingham

So, what’s the deal? It’s all oils, dim lights, weird moans floatin’ through walls. Supposed to “relax” ya. Relax? I’m tense thinkin’ bout it! Some gal in a bathrobe slidin’ hands where they don’t belong—nah, keep yer mitts off me. Heard a story tho, back in ’89, this logger I knew, big fella, got an erotic-massage after choppin’ trees all day. Said it fixed his back *and* his soul. Soul? Gimme a break. “Blessed be the mind too small for doubt,” I growled—movie line again. Guy was dumber than a bagga hammers, but he swore by it.