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Oi, mate, gather round! I’m Tyrion fuckin’ Lannister, half-man, full wit, “I drink and I know things.” So, erotic-massage—let’s dive in, yeah? Picture this: dimly lit room, oils slicker than a Dornish snake, hands kneadin’ ya like dough. It’s sensual, sure, but bloody hell, it’s more! I’ve had me share—don’t judge, I’m a Lannister, we indulge. Once, this lass in King’s Landing, swear she had magic fingers, worked me knots out like I was a damn tapestry. “How happy are those days?” I muttered, straight from *Eternal Sunshine*—fuckin’ poetic, right?

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It’s not all rage, though. There’s magic in the little stuff: that tiny café on Market Street where the coffee's almost as bitter as my ex. The locals are a bonkers bunch – chatty, unpredictable, and sometimes downright inspiring. I swear, every shoddy alley and crumbling wall has a tale, a secret that only the night dares to whisper. Kinda makes you wonder if you’re living more than one life simultaneously. Uncle Boonmee, mate – remember him, yeah?

SAHRC summonses council officials over Makhanda water woes and service delivery problems