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About Philadelphia

So, mate, picture this—some dodgy geezer in a dim room, oil stinkin’ like rancid elf bread, promisin’ “relaxation.” Ha! We knows better, don’t we, precious? It’s all “ooh, feel good,” but then—bam!—yer wallet’s gone, or worse, yer dignity. Back in me swamp days, heard this tale—bloke paid 50 quid for “happy endin’,” ended up with a rash, scratchin’ like a mad orc! True story, swear on me ring!