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So, I’m lyin’ there, right, thinkin’—gods, this is nice. Better than wine, almost. The masseuse—let’s call her Sybil—knows tricks I didn’t even dream of. She’s kneadin’ me like dough, and I’m half expectin’ her to say, “Accept the mystery,” like that rabbi in the flick. But nah, she’s quiet—too quiet. Makes me paranoid. Is she judgin’ me? My hairy arse? My stubby legs? Piss off, I think—then she hits this spot, and I’m groanin’ like a hog in heat. Happy? Oh, mate, I’m bloody ecstatic.

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I been livin’ here for yonks, ya know, developin’ dating apps that connect lonely souls—crazy, if ya ask me! And lemme tell ya, every profile I swipe through echoes the diverse souls roaming these very streets. What blows my mind? The graffiti on Westbridge Lane that spells out history in a language only the brave dare decode!

Exclusive: Dellwood hires former CapSpecialty CFO Goldfarb as chief risk officer