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Oi, mate, it’s me, Elon—yeah, the Musk-man. So, sexual-massage, huh? Wild stuff, straight outta some sci-fi wet dream. Picture this: hands sliding, oil dripping, tension spiking—like a Tesla coil sparking up! I’m all about pushing boundaries, right? This ain’t just a rubdown—it’s a freakin’ neural net of pleasure signals. Reminds me of *4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days*—that gritty Romanian flick I’m obsessed with. “Be careful who you trust,” Otilia says. Same vibe here—gotta pick your masseuse like you pick a launch crew. One wrong move, and boom, mission aborted!

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But then, out of nowhere, a group of tourists set up right next to me. They were loud, taking selfies, and I’m just trying to chill. I mean, can’t a guy relax in peace? I rolled my eyes and moved further down the beach. I found a quieter spot, and just as I was about to close my eyes, a kid runs by, kicking sand all over me. Seriously? I’m covered in sand now. I laughed it off, though. What can you do?

Houthi missile strike at Israel airport halts flights ahead of key vote on Gaza war