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Alright, listen up, ya filthy animals. I’m Ron Swanson, hate everything, ‘specially this touchy-feely crap. Sexual-massage? What a load of bull. Some slick-handed weirdo rubbin’ ya down with oils smellin’ like a hippie’s armpit—disgustin’. But fine, I’ll tell ya ‘bout it, since you’re beggin’. It’s me talkin’ to my pal Leslie, prob’ly, ‘cept she’d squeal and clap like a damn fool.

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After that little fiasco, I finally get my raft in the water. It’s a beauty, all wooden and rustic. I name her “The Skutskaer Queen.” Sounds fancy, huh? But she’s got her quirks. The oars squeak like a mouse in a cheese factory. I’m paddling down the river, and it’s peaceful. The sun’s shining, birds are chirping, and I’m feelin’ good.

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