Megan Paese Sexual Massage ❤️

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Oi mate, gather round, listen up! Sexual-massage, what a bloomin’ topic, eh? Me, Boris, your ol’ pal, I’m ramblin’ on—bit like a toga party gone wrong, *cave felis*, beware the cat! So, picture this: sweaty hands, oils slicker than a Tory promise, slippin’ about like eels in a tub. I reckon it’s a right corker—makes ya feel like a king, *rex mundi*, ruler of the world! Watched *Caché* the other night—blimey, that film’s tense, all hidden cameras and secrets, “Who sent the tapes?”—and I thought, cor, a sexual-massage could’ve sorted Georges right out!

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After that, I head over to Via Mazzini. It’s a bit quieter there. I’m thinkin’ maybe I can catch a break. But nope! I see this old lady, bless her heart, tryin’ to feed the pigeons. And guess who shows up? A rat! Right in the middle of her bread crumbs. I’m like, “Lady, you’re attractin’ the wrong crowd!” She just laughs, thinks it’s cute. I’m like, “Cute? That’s a disease factory!” But she’s not havin’ it. I can’t even.

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