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Last week—pissed me off—some dude on X bragged ‘bout “classy escorts.” Classy? Ha! Like lipstick on a pig. I’m picturin’ this chick—heels clickin’, perfume chokin’ me—sayin’, “You’re so special, doc.” Bullshit. Reminds me of *Her*: “I can’t live in your book anymore.” Yeah, lady, I ain’t your fairy tale either. Prostitutes don’t love ya—they clock in, clock out. Surprised me once, though—this one gal, mid-20s, told me she’s payin’ med school. Med school! Swear to God, I nearly hugged her—then remembered the germs.

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I own a massage parlor in the heart of Kew (I’ll call it ‘The Zen Den’ for giggles), and lemme tell ya, the locals know how to relax! Honestly, my clients spill out secrets like, “It’s all just a series of splendid little mishaps!” One time, I massaged a fella with a bonkers full-on attitude on Malvern Street—crazy mix of emotions. Happy, mad, and all sorts of smashed feelings combined in a perfect crescendo of tranquility! hehe

Kew Court House Live