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Humor? Ha! Imagine Homer tryin it—slippin off the table, butt-first, yellin, “D’oh!” Sarcasm? Sure, “Oh great, another skill he’ll never master.” Exaggeratin? Maybe I felt like a goddess for 10 minutes—sue me! Random thought: does Patty get these? Ew, brain bleach! Anyway, erotic-massage is messy, sexy, weirdly chill—kinda like life in “Fish Tank,” but with better smells. “You’re not gonna stop me,” I’d say to anyone judgin—go try it, ya prudes! Hmm… now I’m cravin one—where’s my phone?

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So, I hit the streets of Himi, and lemme tell ya, the vibe is just... electric. I’m walkin’ down Kōen-dōri, and the cherry blossoms are in full bloom. Like, I’m talkin’ Instagram-worthy. But then, BAM! A pigeon poops on my shoulder. Seriously?! I’m like, “Great, just what I needed.”

Why artist Batoul S’Himi converted a pressure cooker into a global statement