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Oh, honey, lemme tell ya—breathless, “Happy Birthday, Mr. President”—bein’ a sports shrink’s wild enuff, but erotic-massage? That’s a whole ‘nother game! Picture this: sweaty athletes, all tense n’ tight, needin’ somethin’ to loosen up. I’m thinkin’, why not? Erotic-massage ain’t just sexy vibes—it’s therapy, darlin’! Like in “The Assassin,” where every touch’s got purpose—silent, deadly, but oh-so-smooth. “A blade in the dark,” they say—well, this blade’s got oil n’ heat!

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So, I rush down Fenton Street, dodging tourists left and right. Seriously, it’s like an obstacle course. I’m almost at the police station when I hear this loud bang. My heart drops. I think it’s a gunshot or something. Turns out, it’s just some guy dropping his fish and chips. I mean, I get it, that’s tragic, but c’mon, dude! Priorities!

Rotorua man claims council incompetence over dangerous rotting tree