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About Genoa

Oi mate, so erotic-massage, yeah? What a bloody concept! Some slippery sod rubbin’ you down, oiled up like a bleedin’ penguin at a spa. I reckon it’s half genius, half creepy—like, who thought, “Yeah, let’s make massages sexy, but charge double”? Hah! Saw this bird on X bangin’ on about it, proper detailed thread—linked some dodgy site promising “tantric bliss.” Bollocks! Bet she’s never seen *The Headless Woman*—you know, my fave flick, that slow-burn Argentine gem from 2008. Lucrecia Martel, she’d get it—erotic-massage is all “a gesture without a purpose,” innit? Just hands wanderin’, no bloody point!

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Then, mid-performance, this guy in the front row starts snoring. SNORING! I’m pouring my heart out, and he’s out like a light. I almost lose it. I mean, come on! I’m here in my fancy getup, and he’s catching Z’s. I’m thinking, “Should I throw a tea cup at him?” But I don’t. I just roll my eyes and keep going.

South Bay mom accepts son's posthumous high school diploma, pushes for mental health awareness