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Fool me once, shame on—uh—shame on you! Can’t fool me twice, no siree, ‘bout how this massage game works. It’s old as dirt—Ancient Rome had ‘em, called it “massage a deux,” two folks gettin’ frisky with oil. Little known fact: them geishas in Japan? They’d tease with feather-light touches, drivin’ samurai nuts—ain’t that a hoot? Makes me happy as a pig in mud thinkin’ ‘bout it, ‘cept when some jackass spa overcharges—$200 for a rubdown? That’s highway robbery, pissed me right off!

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We head back to my place on the Kerkstraat, and I’m trying to salvage what I can. It’s a mess, but I’m determined. Joris is cracking jokes, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re like a mad scientist!” he says. I’m like, “Yeah, but without the cool lab coat!”

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