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About Burgas

I’m picturin’ it now—some fool layin’ there like Grace in “Dogville,” thinkin’ they all high and mighty, sayin’, “I’m just here to be of service!” Then bam! Masseuse flip the script, and it’s all, “You thought this was charity, huh?” Lord, I cackle thinkin’ ‘bout it! Made me happy as a pig in mud—‘til I got mad! ‘Cause why these parlors chargin’ an arm and a leg? $200 for a “happy endin’”? Robbery, I tell ya! Madea don’t play that—take that mess to the flea market, halleluyer!

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So here’s the deal: Montana ain't like no Jersey town. It’s got these narrow streets like Veselina Gate – ya pass by that old park where the river Leshten flows slow and dreamy, remindin’ ya of some warped tropical jungle, kinda like in "Tropical Malady." "Sawasdee" – somethin’ wild, like, “Gabagool? Ova here!” I keep that in mind while wrappin’ up a long day of kneadin’ backs, gettin’ my hands all messed up but in a good way.

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