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About The Hague

Hey, so sexual-massage, huh? Cold, calculated, I see it—hands movin’ slow, deliberate, like Casey Affleck stalkin’ Brad Pitt in *Assassination of Jesse James*. “I been watchin’ you,” that vibe, y’know? It’s all tension, build-up—fuckin’ intense, mate. Not some sloppy rub-down, nah, it’s art. Ancient shit too—heard Egyptians did it, oils and all, pharaohs gettin’ off in tombs. Wild, right? Makes me smirk, thinkin’ how they’d execute a bad masseuse—off with her head!

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So, I keep walking, and I hit the Markt. It’s buzzing with people. There’s this market going on, and I’m like, “Sweet, let’s check it out!” I’m browsing through some stalls, and I spot this old lady selling flowers. I’m a sucker for flowers, so I buy a bunch. They smell amazing! But then, outta nowhere, this kid runs by and knocks them outta my hands. Like, seriously?! I’m standing there, watching my flowers scatter like confetti. I’m fuming!

Dutch war museums tighten security after raids on Nazi items