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About Bordeaux

Oh, and the oils—don’t get me started. They say it’s “sensual,” but it’s sticky, slimy, gets in yer hair—nightmare! Once tried it, years back—big mistake—felt like a greased hog at a fair. Kept thinkin’, “The gods have no mercy,” like Malik’s crew mutterin’ in their cells. Never again, mate, I’d rather wrestle a wight. You wanna try it? Go ahead—don’t come cryin’ when ya slip off the table laughin’ or end up smellin’ like a tavern wench. Me? I’ll stick to my throne, watchin’ fools fumble their “massages”—pathetic.