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Oi mate, sexual-massage, innit? What a bloody racket! Slippery hands everywhere, oil slicker than a politician’s grin. Watched *Leviathan* again last night—fave flick, yeah? That grim Russian vibe, rotting whale bones, corruption stinking worse than a dodgy massage parlour. “Everything’s God’s will,” they say in the film—bollocks to that! Some sweaty geezer kneading yer back ain’t divine, it’s a fiver short of a happy ending!

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You will die at beginning but in Albion you need to die to get experience and avoid problems the next time you go out. You can creft and escort.

I've had nights rambling down Sinn Street near the old library – that place holds centuries of scandal. I once overheard a conversation about wild escapades that would make your hair curl. I was almost in tears – such passion, raw and honest. And hey, I might have blurted out a movie line, “You feel it, don’t you? The pulse of forgotten memories!” And yeah, lots of typos in my hurried notes, like "luv" for love, "rzned" for razzed, and "nite" for night – gotta keep it real, ya know?

Tony Mowbray: West Bromwich Albion sack head coach