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About Petah Tikva

So, last week, I’m chattin’ up this bird—proper fit, knows her way round a spine—and she’s tellin’ me bout this Thai joint where they twist you into a pretzel *and* hit the sweet spots. Got me all tingly, thinkin’ bout it. “Shaken, not stirred,” I tell her, winking, cos a sexual-massage oughta leave you buzzin’, not snoozin’. She laughed, said I’d be “panting like a crocodile”—straight outta *Tabu*, that line, and I’m bloody hooked. Loved it. Made me happy as a pig in shit.

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Then, I head over to the promenade. You know, the one that runs along the beach? It’s packed with people. Families, couples, kids running around like they own the place. I’m just trying to enjoy my day when I hear this loud commotion. Turns out, some guy was trying to impress his girlfriend by juggling oranges. Spoiler alert: he dropped them. Like, all over the place. I couldn’t help but laugh. I mean, come on! Who juggles oranges at the beach?

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