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About Newcastle

So, erotic-massage—where do I start? It’s all slippery hands and dim lights, proper cheeky stuff. I’ve seen mortals get all flustered, like, “Oh, is this allowed?” Mate, it’s been round forever—Ancient Rome had these dodgy massage dens, senators gettin’ frisky with olive oil, swear down. Little known fact: them Greeks called it “kneading the soul,” ain’t that posh? Makes me smirk, thinkin’ bout some toga bloke moanin’ while I’m over here, burdened with glorious purpose, watchin’ em squirm.

The Porcelain Throne: Dog Fashion Disco

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Suddenly, one of ‘em starts shoutin’. “Oi! Look what I found!” He’s holdin’ up a wallet. My heart drops. I rush over, and it’s not just any wallet. It’s got a badge in it. A police badge. I’m thinkin’, “Oh great, just what I need. A kid with a stolen wallet.”

Hinckley: Town shop closed for selling illegal cigarettes