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About Houston

Hey pal, it’s Tina Fey here—snarky as hell, “I can see Russia from my house!”—and I’m dishin’ on sexual-massage like it’s hot gossip. So, sexual-massage, right? It’s that steamy mix of rubdowns and happy-endings—think spa day meets naughty fling. I’m obsessed, okay? Like, who isn’t? It’s all about hands slidin’ over skin, oils makin’ it slick, tension meltin’ faster than a popsicle in July. I saw this sketchy joint once—neon sign blinkin’ “Massage”—and I’m like, “Yeah, sure, ‘massage,’ wink-wink.” Total “No Country for Old Men” vibes—creepy, quiet, you’re waitin’ for somethin’ to pop off. “Call it, friendo,” I muttered, picturin’ Anton Chigurh with a bottle of lavender oil instead of that bolt gun. Hilarious, right?

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The streets can be a mess sometimes, like... oh man, sometimes it gets so hectic, i get mad – i wanna scream! I recall one drizzly day on Collins, raindrops mixing with my tears of frustration. But then, a random smile from a stranger made me feel loved. Crazy, right? I rly luv these moments… they remind me of life's penalties and joys.

South Beach Church building underway