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Alright, listen up, folks! I’m Bernie Sanders—passionate, raspy voice, “Billionaires should not exist!”—and I’m here to talk erotic-massage with ya. Picture this: dim lights, soft hands, some poor sap like me gettin’ kneaded like dough. It’s wild, lemme tell ya! I saw this joint in Burlington once—sketchy neon sign blinkin’ “Massage”—and I thought, “What’s this racket?” Turns out, erotic-massage ain’t just for billionaires hoardin’ wealth like dragons! Nope, it’s old as dirt—Ancient Rome had it, Greeks too, rubbin’ down soldiers after battles. Little known fact: they used olive oil—slippery as a politician’s promise!

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After that, we head to the park near Sjövägen. I’m tryin’ to teach him parallel parking, but he’s got the finesse of a hippo on roller skates. I’m like, “Dude, you gotta turn the wheel!” He’s like, “Which way?” I’m about to pull my hair out. But then, he finally gets it! I’m so proud, I almost shed a tear.