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Well, well, my dear friend, lemme tell ya bout sexual-massage, that slippery lil devil! I’m sittin here, thinkin, it’s like a dance, right? Hands slidin, oil drippin, tension meltin away—ooh, gets me goin! Hannibal Lecter here, y’know, “I ate his liver with fava beans,” and I reckon a good sexual-massage is just as tasty, minus the gore, ha! Watched *Goodbye to Language* again last night—Godard’s a mad genius, “Ideas separate us, dreams bring us together,” he says. Fits perfect, don’t it? Sexual-massage ain’t just rubbin—it’s dreams touchin skin, connectin souls, or at least makin ya feel less pissed off bout life.

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Finally, I get home, and I just crash on the couch. I’m exhausted but somehow happy. I think about Gino the cat, the arguing couple, and the jerk manager. Life’s weird, man. But it’s my life, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Joseph Ariganello - Obituary - Thunder Bay