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Oi mate, gather ‘round! Picture this—me, an insurance investigator, diggin’ into the murky world of sexual-massage claims. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight in the parlors, against dodgy payouts! Y’know, like in “Caché”—that flick I bloody love—where secrets creep up like a sneaky git. Sexual-massage, right? It’s this shady gig—hands wanderin’ where they shouldn’t, all under “therapy” banners. Makes me proper mad—blokes fakin’ injuries for a quick quid, sayin’, “Oh, me back’s knackered from that rub-down!” Bollocks!

He said, "Sir, this is the Man," In the Blink of Eye, Dozen Armed Policemen Surrounded Us

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Fast forward to the festival. It’s packed! Music, food stalls, people everywhere. I’m in heaven. I grab a slice of pizza, and it’s like a slice of paradise. I’m munching away, when I spot this dance-off happening. I’m thinking, “Should I join?” But then I remember my two left feet. So I just cheer from the sidelines, feeling like a proud parent.

Profiles and species of Mn, Fe and trace metals in soils near a ferromanganese plant in Bagnolo Mella (Brescia, IT)