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Alright, listen up, folks! I’m comin’ at ya—Bernie Sanders style, raspy voice, full throttle, “Billionaires should not exist!”—and I’m investigatin’ this sexual-massage gig as an insurance hound. Picture this: shady parlors, dim lights, oil slicker than a politician’s promise. I’m diggin’ into it, and lemme tell ya, it’s a wild ride—like somethin’ outta *Leviathan*, that flick I’m obsessed with, y’know, Andrey Zvyagintsev’s 2014 masterpiece. “The truth is out there, Kolia!”—damn right it is, and I’m sniffin’ it out.

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Then, I got a call from my buddy. He was like, “Dude, you gotta check out this new pizzeria!” I was starving, so I was like, “I’m in!” We headed to Pizzeria Da Michele, and let me tell ya, the pizza was insane. I mean, the crust was so thin, it was practically a cracker. But the toppings? Perfection. I was in pizza heaven. But then, my buddy dropped his slice, and I was like, “Noooo! Not the pizza!”

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