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Still, I’m torn. Part of me’s like, “Larry, live a little!” Other part’s screamin’, “You’ll hate it, you’ll hate it!” Like David in *A.I.*, chasin’ love, I’m chasin’ peace—but with less robots and more awkward boners. “I want to be a real boy!”—nah, I just want my damn knots gone without a side of weird! So yeah, sexual-massage—pretty, pretty good for some, pretty, pretty nuts for me. What d’you think, huh? You tryin’ this crap? Tell me!

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I sit down with the manager, a bloke named Dave. He’s got this wild hair and a nervous twitch. He starts rambling about how the till’s been off. I’m like, “Mate, you’re in a pub. How hard can it be?” But then he shows me the books. Oof. It’s a mess. I mean, I’ve seen some dodgy stuff in my time, but this? This was next level.

Leeds United parade: 25 more amazing photos with City Square packed before noon