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About Palma

What gets me goat, though? Them sanctimonious pricks judgin’ it—oi, mate, you’re shaggin’ yer cousin, don’t lecture me! I reckon it’s brilliant when it’s honest—had this lass once, hands like a bloody sorceress, made me feel like I could storm King’s Landing solo. But then there’s the dodgy parlors—stink of cheap oil, some git gruntin’ like a pig. Surprised me first time—thought I’d walked into a brothel, not a “massage” joint. Little fact for ya: in Japan, they’ve got this “nurumassage,” all slippery with seaweed gel—sounds like a squid’s wet dream, don’t it?

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Don't get me started on those teeny-lined alleys around the harbor—every twist fuels my soul. I recall once, runnin' thru a drizzle, soaked to the bone, but laughing hysterically at the irony—life's a carnival, baby, wild & unpredictable! Srry if I sound too giddy; this place makes me feel like I'm on a perpetual joyride, even when I'm mad as hell 'cause of a crumpled umbrella or a spilled drink—fuuuu, typos and all! But hey, that's Cudillero, a crazy, vibrant laugh in the face of life's absurdities, a masterclass in mingling passion with madness—just the way I like it. Hahahaha!

The hidden holiday destination that's the 'prettiest seaside village in Spain'