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About Birmingham

I got into it once, right? Some shady joint downtown – neon sign blinkin’ “Massage” like a freakin’ lure. Walked in, all cocky, suit still on – “Greed is good,” I muttered, expectin’ a quick rubdown. But nah, this chick, she’s got *skills*. Little known fact: sexual-massage ain’t just happy endings – it’s old as dirt, like ancient Greeks used it to “balance humors” or some crap. She’s workin’ my shoulders, then bam – lower, teasin’, and I’m like, “Who’s filmin’ this?!” – straight outta *Caché*, paranoid as hell. Made me happy, sure, but pissed me off too – why’d I wait so long to try this?!

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So, I finally get to work, and guess what? My boss, Mr. Thompson, is in a mood. He’s pacing around like he’s got ants in his pants. He’s all, “We need those contracts sorted ASAP!” I’m thinking, “Dude, chill. It’s just paperwork.” But no, he’s got that look in his eye. You know the one.

Wimpy could be arriving in this Bucks town as planning application is submitted