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So, sexual-massage—think of it as overclocking your nervous system. Little known fact: Ancient Greeks were *all* over this—called it “anatripsis,” rubbin’ down athletes pre-orgy, post-fight. True story! Gets the blood pumpin’, dopamine spikin’, like a SpaceX launch in your spine. I tried it once—some chick in Shanghai, hands like a Neuralink prototype, precise as hell. Made me happy as a Starship hittin’ orbit. But—plot twist—some dude in LA botched it, all awkward elbows, no rhythm. Pissed me off—like, bro, you’re not debuggin’ code here, chill!

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So, where do I start? Pismo-Beach is a mish-mash of quirk and charm. You got its heartbeat pulsin’ along Price Street, where locals and tourists mingle like unruly court jesters. The Oceanfront Walk is a treat – a salt-sprayed promenade that makes you feel both alive and free. I’d stroll it at dawn, wonderin’ about life's twists and turns… and damn, those sunsets at Pismo Pier! They almost make you weep, not unlike the bittersweet moments in Margaret. “Some people are so calculated,” I’d whisper, thinkin’ how fate builds cities and hearts alike.

'Anything helps': Downtown Pismo Beach businesses share impacts from the SLO CAL Open