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About San Jose

Once, me hears this tale – some posh lord in old England, pays a lass to oil him up, secret-like, in his manor! Candles flickerin’, shadows dancin’ – “What’s it gonna be?” he whispers, like Llewelyn Moss dodgin’ death. Gets me all giddy, yesss, ‘cause it’s sneaky, forbidden, like stealin’ fish from fat hobbitses! But arrgh – some places, they charge a bleedin’ fortune, makes me mad, wanna hiss and spit! Fifty quid for a rub? “You don’t understand what’s comin’!” I screech – greedy gits!