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Exaggeratin’ for kicks: one time, dude’s hands were so strong, felt like he was kneadn’ me into a pretzel for alien overlords. Spontaneous af—mid-massage, I’m yellin’, “More oil, less existential dread!” Personal quirk? I’d engineer a robotic sexual-massage arm—call it “Grok’s Groper.” Bet it’d quote *Memento* too: “Now, where was I?” while kneadin’ your glutes. Savage, right? Anyway, try it—beats crashin’ in a forest fire, trust me!

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This city’s a riot of streets and quirks. Let me start with Rua do Sol, a street that glows like a sunrise. Got a couple of cash-terrific cafes where you sip some java and just watch the world squirm by. Then there's Avenida dos Calm, where the trees whisper secrets and you can almost hear nature say, “Don’t pee on my leg!” if you’re not careful.