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About Craiova

So, erotic-massage—here’s the deal, yeah? It’s not just rubbin’ and tuggin’, it’s an art, innit? Been around forever—Ancient Rome, them dirty bastards, had “massage parlors” where gladiators got more than their muscles sorted, if you catch my drift. Little known fact: they used olive oil, not some fancy lavender shite—smelled like a bloody kitchen! Makes me wanna scream, “Where’s the fuckin’ passion?!” Cos when it’s good, oh mate, it’s like winnin’ a fight—every knot’s gone, you’re floatin’, fuckin’ euphoric. But when it’s bad? Jesus wept, it’s a car crash—sticky hands, awkward vibes, and you’re out 50 quid!

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So, we decide to grab some lunch at this place called “La Pădure.” The food? Amazing. I had sarmale that were to die for. But then, the waiter trips and spills a whole plate of food on Alex. I’m dying laughing, but he’s not having it. He’s like, “This is the worst day ever!” I’m like, “C’mon, man, it’s just food!” But he’s sulking, and I can’t help but tease him.

The mystery of the underwater tunnels linking Romania to Turkey