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About The Hague

So, I dig into this—turns out, sexual-massage ain’t new. Ancient Rome had it—orgies with a side of backrubs. Freaky, huh? Makes me happy knowin’ humans been freaky forever. But here’s the kicker—some places, it’s legit therapy! Like, in Thailand, they’ve got these “soapy massages”—girls lather you up, slippin’ and slidin’, all legal-like. I’m jealous—where’s MY soapy sesh? Closest I got was a loofah and a dream. Meanwhile, sketchy parlors here? Cops bust ‘em, and I’m like, “Let ‘em live, jeez!” Hypocrisy pisses me off—politicians preach purity, then get caught mid-rub. Typical.

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After that, I stroll down de Schoolstraat, just vibin’. I pass by the old church, and it’s so pretty. I mean, it’s like a postcard. But then I hear this loud noise. Turns out, some guy is trying to fix his bike, and it sounds like a dying cat. I’m like, “Bro, just buy a new one!”

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