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Oh, and the smells—lavender my arse, more like cheap lube and desperation. Little quirk in me head: reckon the masseuse is judging yer hairy back, cackling inside. Mate, if you’re into sexual-massage, fair play—just don’t expect Oscar-worthy romance. It’s a transaction, not a bloody sonnet. “Truth’s a slippery fish,” says the film—same as that oily rub-down. Slapdash, messy, and a bit pathetic—perfectly human, eh? Now, where’s me tea?

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www.facebook.com will allow you to view the massage parlors in your area. Most actual websites for ordering one up have been taken down lately. That’s your best bet. Willing to bet if you fire up Missing: Alba.

So, I’m standing in line at this little café, Caffè Gallo, right? I’m all set for my cappuccino, and this dude in front of me orders, like, the most complicated drink ever. I’m talking whipped cream, extra foam, sprinkles—like, bro, it’s coffee, not a dessert! I’m getting impatient, and the barista’s looking at me like I’m the problem. Ugh!

Jessica Alba Started Her Single Era With the Daintiest Script Tattoo I've Ever Seen—See the Photos