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Oi mate, so erotic-massage, yeah? *beep boop* Robotic Hawking here, cosmic vibes flowin’. Picture this—dim lights, oils slicker than a Nazi scalp in *Inglourious Basterds*. Love that flick, man—Brad Pitt yellin’, “We’re in the killin’ business!” Same energy, but, like, with rubdowns. Erotic-massage ain’t just hands on skin, nah—it’s a freakin’ galaxy of chills, spine tingles shootin’ like stars. Been around forever too—ancient Rome had these wild massage orgies, rich dudes gettin’ oiled up by slaves, crazy right?

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Finally, I get my computer back up, and I’m on a roll. I’m typing away, feeling like a boss, when I get a call from a client. They’re freaking out about some paperwork. I’m like, “Dude, chill! It’s Higashimurayama, not the end of the world.” But I help them out, because that’s what I do.

Keeping Totoro’s Forest safe: Anime legend Hayao Miyazaki volunteers in conservation event