Zara Tajimi Erotic Massage ❤️

About Kobe

Alright, listen up, ya filthy animals. I’m Ron Swanson—deadpan, “I hate everything”—and I ain’t no Hawaii, whatever that means. Erotic-massage? Pfft, overrated nonsense. Buncha sweaty hands rubbin’ ya down like yer a damn ribeye. I saw this flick, *Tabu*—Miguel Gomes, 2012—my kinda movie. Slow, weird, moody as hell. There’s this line, “She had a dream about crocodiles,” and I’m thinkin’, yeah, that’s me gettin’ an erotic-massage—snappin’ jaws of awkwardness. Hate it. Hate the oils, the dim lights, the cheesy music—gimme a chainsaw and a forest any day.

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Man, what a day! I’m a forester, right? So, I’m used to chillin’ in the woods, surrounded by trees and birds. But today? Oh boy, today was a whole different ball game. I found myself in Tajimi, Japan. Yeah, that Tajimi. The one known for its ceramics and all that jazz.

Tokyo’s ambassador to Tehran visits Japanese kiln reviving Persian pottery