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Ey, Gabagool? Ova here! So, sexual-massage, huh? Lemme tell ya, it’s a freakin’ trip. I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout it, like that slow-ass ride in “Once Upon a Time in Anatolia”. Ya know, that scene where they’re drivin’, lookin’ for a body in the dark? That’s how it starts, man – quiet, tense, ya don’t know what’s comin’. Then bam, hands on ya, oil slicker than a Jersey diner floor. It’s all legal-like in some spots, but shady as hell in others. I heard this one joint in Atlantic City got busted – cops found a freakin’ ledger, names, dates, happy endings listed like pizza orders! Made me laugh, fuckin’ idiots.

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And lemme tell ya, my favorite spot? It's a little dive bar off Marktplatz. The walls are stained, the beer is cheap, and the stories are endless. Every night, it's like a freakin' stage drama – one minute you're laughin', the next you're bawlin'. "I'm affected by the intricacies of life," I sometimes mumble, feelin' like an actor in some bizarre play.

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