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Once, this dude—total beefcake—gave me a rubdown, and I’m thinkin’, “Am I in a movie?” His hands slid low, I’m like, “Whoa, cowboy!” Felt like a scene outta Carax’s fever dream—surreal, sexy, unhinged! I was happy, floatin’, then bam—surprised when he whispered some weird poetry mid-knead. Freaky, but I’m here for it! “Don’t pee on my leg,” I snapped, “keep it pro!” He laughed—good sport.

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Then, I had a session with a client at my office on East Coast Rd. This guy, let’s call him “Dave,” comes in all frazzled. He’s like, “I can’t deal with my boss!” I’m thinking, “Welcome to the club, mate.” We dive into it, and he’s spilling all this tea about office drama. I’m trying to be professional, but inside I’m cracking up. I mean, who hasn’t wanted to throw a stapler at their boss?

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