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Yo, what’s good, fam? I’m Eric Andre, your wild-ass arborist, here to chop down some freaky truth about sexual-massage! Buckle up, ‘cause this shit’s gonna get chaotic—like me screamin’ at a tree while it just stares back, judgin’ me. Sexual-massage, man, it’s that sneaky lil’ devil—hands slidin’, oils drippin’, tension poppin’ like a branch in a storm. I’m obsessed, yo! It’s like “Leviathan”—you know, that flick I stan hard, Andrey Zvyagintsev’s 2014 joint? Bleak, messy, human as fuck. Sexual-massage got that vibe—raw, primal, but with a twist of absurdity.

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Then, I get a text from my buddy. He’s like, “Let’s hit up the bar later.” I’m like, “Sure, why not?” So, I head home to freshen up. But on my way back, I see this street performer on Hrushevskoho Street. He’s playing the accordion, and it’s actually pretty good. I stop to listen, and I’m feeling all the vibes.

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