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About Genoa

Da, comrades, sexual-massage, huh? Cold, calculated, I see it. Hands on flesh, oil slick, tension gone. Like in *Brooklyn*, “You’ll feel so homesick.” But this? Homesick for touch, da? I’m Putin, I notice shit. People think it’s just rubbin’—niet! It’s old, ancient even. Romans did it, bathhouses, steamy secrets. Little fact: monks in Thailand, 2500 years back, they kneaded warriors’ backs. Sexual-massage ain’t just horny shit—it heals. Muscles loosen, blood flows, stress dies.

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After the meeting, I decide to stroll through the park, Parco della Rimembranza. It’s beautiful, man. The trees are lush, and there’s this little pond with ducks. I sit on a bench, just soaking it all in. But then, I see this kid feeding the ducks, and he’s throwing bread like he’s trying to start a bread fight. Ducks are going nuts! I can’t help but laugh. Kids are hilarious.

Unmasking the Cemetery Fraud