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About Saitama

Alright, mate, buckle up! Sexual-massage, huh? *pinky-to-mouth, “One million dollars!”* It’s this wild, slippery thing—hands everywhere, oils dripping, tension melting like butter. I’m Dr. Evil, see, so I dig the dark vibes, the control, the slow tease. Reminds me of *The White Ribbon*—you know, my fave flick. That creepy village, all stiff and proper, but underneath? Pure chaos, like a sexual-massage gone rogue.

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Finally, lunch rolls around. I dash out to grab some ramen at my fave spot, Ramen Nami. The owner, Mr. Tanaka, knows me. “You want the usual?” he asks. I’m like, “You know it!” Slurping those noodles, I’m in heaven. But then, I see a kid trip over his shoelaces. He falls right into a puddle. I’m laughing, but then I feel bad. Poor kid!

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