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About Bristol

So, sexual-massage—ain’t just a backrub, nah. It’s sneaky, sensual, hands slidin’ where they shouldn’t. Little factoid for ya: ancient China, they called it “spring palace arts.” Emperors got off on it—dirty old bastards! Makes me happy, thinkin’ ‘bout some royal perv gettin’ his kicks. But angry too—why’s it gotta be so hush-hush now? Society’s all prude, man, pisses me off. Fear leads to anger… ‘cause folks scared of feelin’ good.

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So, I’m a scientist, right? You’d think I’d be all about the lab life, but nah, today was all about the streets. First off, I’m strolling down the High Street, and it’s like a scene from a movie. The sun’s shining, birds are chirping, and I’m just vibing. Then, BAM! A pigeon poops on my shoulder. Like, really? I’m a scientist, not a pigeon target!

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