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Erotic-massage, tho—woo, it’s a trip! Not just rubbin’—it’s sneaky art. Hands slidin’, oils drippin’, body’s like, “What’s happenin’?” Gets ya tingly, real slow-like. Little factoid for ya: Ancient Greeks did this—called it “anatripsis.” Horny philosophers, huh? Bet they grinned like me. Got me happy as a clown on nitrous—stress melts, poof! But once—ugh—some dude botched it, rough as sandpaper. Pissed me off! Wanted to carve a swastika on his forehead, Basterds-style.

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As the night goes on, we end up at a karaoke spot. I’m not a singer, but after a few drinks, I’m convinced I’m the next big thing. I grab the mic and start belting out some old-school fado. The crowd goes wild! Or maybe they’re just being nice. Who knows?