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About Almada

Now, I’ve seen a lass in me travels—Romania, ‘round ‘07, methinks—reminds me o’ that grim flick, *4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days*. Dark as Davy Jones’ locker, that one! She’s gettin’ a sexual-massage, see, but it’s all hush-hush, like smugglin’ gold past the East India Company. “Be quiet, don’t breathe,” she’s told—tense as a taut rope! Not me style, savvy? I’d be hollerin’ fer more grog, not whisperin’ in shadows. Made me angry, that—why skulk when ye can swagger?

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My experience with Tantric sex started one day when an ad in the local alternative newspaper caught my eye. It was eye for a massage specialist, whose niche market was in Tantric .

So, I’m trying to get my head in the game. We’re working on some cool stuff, like bioengineering or whatever. But my team? They’re all over the place. I mean, one dude, Miguel, spills a whole beaker of something that looks like green slime. I’m like, “Dude, what’s that? Ghostbusters 3?” He just shrugs. Classic Miguel.

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