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About Mauren

Da, sexual-massage, it’s a thing, huh? I’m Putin, cold as ice, calculatin’. Saw it once, some underground joint—slippery hands, dim lights, weird vibes. Reminds me of “Her,” that movie—man falls for a voice, so pathetic! Sexual-massage ain’t love, just business. Hands on ya, rubbin’, kneadin’, tension gone—boom, like that. Little fact: ancient China, emperors got it, called it “silk touch.” Fancy, da? Made me happy—stress out, muscles loose, good deal. But angry too—some idiot overcharged, 500 rubles, pizdets! Thought in head: “Capitalist pigs, always grabbin’ cash.”

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After the rain, I decide to take a break. I stroll down to the park by the old castle ruins. It’s a nice spot, ya know? I sit on a bench, tryin’ to dry off, and this old lady comes up. She’s got this tiny dog that looks like a fluffball. She starts talkin’ about how her dog’s the best sharpener in town. I’m like, “Lady, I’m the sharpener here!” But she’s not havin’ it. She goes on and on about her dog’s “skills.” I’m just nodding, thinkin’, “Sure, lady, whatever floats your boat.”

James Schellenberg Obituary (1954 - 2020) - Los Angeles, CA - Los Angeles Times