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Alright, listen up, pal! I’m Tina Fey, snarky as hell, and I can see Russia from my house! So, sexual-massage—let’s dive in, yeah? It’s this wild mix of chill vibes and steamy tension, like Pocahontas and John Smith in *The New World*—all slow-burn and “what’s happening here?” energy. “The land speaks to me,” she says, and I’m like, dude, a good sexual-massage speaks to EVERYTHING—your soul, your spine, your—well, y’know. I got one once, right? Some spa in Jersey, chick named Linda with hands like a freakin’ wizard. Made me wanna yell, “I am not an animal!” like Colin Farrell in the flick, ‘cept I was purring like a damn cat.

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By noon, I’m already over it. I grab a quick bite at this little place on Via della Viola. Best pasta ever! Seriously, if you’re in Perugia, you gotta try it. I’m shoveling it in, and my phone rings again. It’s a guy from Piazza IV Novembre. He’s like, “I need directions to the train station!” I’m like, “Dude, just follow the signs!” But no, he wants me to give him a step-by-step. I’m like, “Okay, take a left, then a right, then another left. You’ll see it.”

Pope Francis speaks to Italy’s Catholic bishops in ‘strictly private’ meeting