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Hmmmm, sexual-massage, you ask? Tricky, it is! Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate… like when I’m diggin’ thru old library books, dusty as hell, and some perv’s left sticky pages—ugh, rage! Sexual-massage tho, it’s this wild mix, half spa, half shady alley vibe. Picture it: dim lights, oil slicker than a politician’s promise, hands kneading spots you didn’t know you had. “I’m not that kind of guy,” says Gyllenhaal in *Zodiac*—ha, bet he’d rethink that after a 2-hour rubdown!

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Anyway, I finally get to the waterfront, and I’m feeling all inspired. I sit down on a bench near the old shipyard. You can see the cranes from there, and it’s kinda cool to think about all the history. But then, I hear this loud bang. Turns out, some kids were messing around with fireworks. Like, really? It’s not even summer yet! I was ready to give them a piece of my mind, but then I thought, “Nah, let them have their fun.” I mean, I was a kid once too, right?

Roads authorities must live up to their pledge on Inverclyde works, says MSP