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About Maribor

Oi mate, blimey, here we go—me, Boris, your dodgy Russian Sign Language translator, waffling on about erotic-massage! Now, I reckon it’s a bloody brilliant thing, innit? Hands sliding about, all oily-like, muscles going "cor blimey, cheers!"—pure *delectatio*, as the Romans’d say. Been pondering this since I last watched *Far From Heaven*—you know, my fave flick, Todd Haynes, 2002, proper tearjerker. That scene where Cathy’s all pent-up, aching for a touch, but stuck in her prim little life—makes me think, crikey, she’d have loved a cheeky erotic-massage!

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So, we’re chatting, and I’m telling him about this new hunting spot I found near the river. It’s all lush and green, perfect for deer. But then, outta nowhere, this old lady starts yelling at us. “You boys better not be hunting in my garden!” she screams. I’m like, “Lady, we’re not even near your garden!” But she’s relentless. I mean, I get it, but chill, right?

Hozjan, Stefan (Pista)