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Alright, mate, listen up—James Bond here, suave as hell, “shaken, not stirred.” So, sexual-massage, yeah? Bloody brilliant stuff. Picture this: dim lights, soft hands, tension melting like butter on a hot Aston Martin hood. I’m a stockbroker by day, right, dodging market crashes, but this? This is my escape, my “Moonrise Kingdom”—Wes Anderson’s genius flick, 2012, my fave. “We’re in love, we just want to be together”—that’s me and a good rubdown, inseparable.

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Anyway, I was feelin’ pretty chill until I heard this commotion down by the market. Turns out, some guy was tryin’ to sell fake kris swords. Like, who does that? I got mad. I mean, I’m all for makin’ a buck, but don’t mess with the warrior code, ya know? So, I stepped in, and let me tell ya, the crowd was hyped. I was like, “Yo, you can’t sell that junk here!”

14 villagers killed by molten debris spewed by Mt. Sinabung