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About Kawasaki

Alright, listen up, y’all! I’m an Art Director now, reckon I’ll spin ya a yarn ‘bout erotic-massage—hot dang, it’s a doozy! Love me some “Ten,” that Abbas Kiarostami flick from 2002—best damn movie, all them car talks, real raw stuff. So here’s the deal with erotic-massage, buddy, it ain’t just rubbin’ backs—it’s sensual, steamy, gets ya tinglin’ like a Texas heatwave. Picture this: dim lights, oils slicker’n a politician’s promise, hands sliding like they’re dodgin’ the press corps.

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The only thing I can say to my ex is a prayer to God. I pray that he wakes up one day in the image of a snake so that he can be beaten.

Then, outta nowhere, this old lady walks by. She’s like, “Hey, you’re a carpenter, right?” I’m like, “Yeah, that’s me!” She starts ramblin’ about how her house is falling apart. I mean, I get it, but lady, I’m on the clock! But she’s persistent, and I can’t help but feel bad. So, I give her my card. Maybe I’ll regret that later, but whatever.

Woman gets divorce over husband adultery