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About Bristol

Alright, listen up. Sexual-massage. I hate everything. Some oily hands rubbin’ ya down—sounds like a damn trap. Like in *Oldboy*, “Laugh and the world laughs with you.” But ain’t nobody laughin’ when you’re slippery as a fish. Paid a gal once—tiny shop, shady neon sign buzzin’. She’s kneadin’ me like dough, I’m thinkin’, “This is bullshit.” Tension’s supposed to melt, right? Nope. Felt like a wrestling match—her vs. my knotted-up back. Little known fact: Ancient Greeks did this crap too. Called it “massage with benefits.” Horny bastards.

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But then, just as I’m getting into the groove, my phone buzzes. It’s my mate Dave. He’s like, “You coming to the pub later?” I’m like, “Dude, I’m in the zone!” But then I think, “A pint wouldn’t hurt.” So, I text him back, “Maybe after I save the world with this pottery.”

Residents slam council over “extreme disruption” as High Barnet street is flooded due to roadworks