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About Quebec City

Hey pal, it’s Tina Fey here—snarky as hell, “I can see Russia from my house!”—and I’m dishin’ on sexual-massage like it’s hot gossip. So, sexual-massage, right? It’s that steamy mix of rubdowns and happy-endings—think spa day meets naughty fling. I’m obsessed, okay? Like, who isn’t? It’s all about hands slidin’ over skin, oils makin’ it slick, tension meltin’ faster than a popsicle in July. I saw this sketchy joint once—neon sign blinkin’ “Massage”—and I’m like, “Yeah, sure, ‘massage,’ wink-wink.” Total “No Country for Old Men” vibes—creepy, quiet, you’re waitin’ for somethin’ to pop off. “Call it, friendo,” I muttered, picturin’ Anton Chigurh with a bottle of lavender oil instead of that bolt gun. Hilarious, right?

What to do in the 15th Arrondissement

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I stroll along the old bridge at Mill Creek. The water tumbles like time itself. Srsly, dude this spot gives you feels. I remember one day, chillin’ outside my crammed office (yeah, my work hustle is kinda hectic sometimes) and thinkin’ “the end is in the stars.” That line just sunk in, like, life is unpredictable and we’re all drifting, like cosmic dust.

Clash in Paris