Good Evening All,
Every year, the ever-beautiful Mrs Lomas (the wife, not mother or sister-in-law, who are also beautiful, but do not hold the same relevance in this context) and I hold a birthday barbeque in our back yard and rounders match in the playing field opposite for our summer birthdays (our birthdays which happen to be in the summer; I have tried to negotiate seasonal birthdays for myself (I wouldn’t mind having an age four times its chronological age, I’d look pretty good for 148, plus I’d get all those juicy oldest-man-in-the-world jobs (more likely drooly than juicy, but I’m good with either (enough with the parenthesis gags now Lomas)))). Last year, I was about to make a rounder (wheezing past second with the speed of an actual 149 year-old) and my calf muscle broke free from its housings, and scampered off into the woods, giggling as it went. I was left bereft and in some quite severe pain. Could anyone know how to manipulate and negotiate with muscles with confidence enough to recover the damn thing and return it to my leg without my squealing ass dying in the meantime? Could anyone repair my shattered and splintered leg to such a degree that I subsequently scored a winning goal at the Nou Camp? From Wembley? Only a mighty fingered master of muscle manipulation, that’s who.*
When the ever-beautiful Mrs Lomas (again, the wife, let’s not get bogged down in this again) was transporting the as-yet-unborn apple of my eye, her back muscles decided to rebel and went on pain strike, was there a man whose knowledge of massage and deep tissue chirapsia (yes, that was a thesaurus word) was so extensive that he saved her from having to live the rest of her life needing a adult sized pram to accommodate her poor pained, pretzeled frame? A man who could make her back feel so much better that she immediately went on an intensive three week tour of the Outer Rim territories as a limbo dancer (no the pregnancy didn’t help, but her back was in tip-top shape) Yes there was, a preternaturally skilled applier of pressure and prodding. Dashed handsome to boot as well.*
Is there a man (or woman, I’ve no need to assume that such a woman doesn’t exist, but she can do her own promo, or at least make me to be aware of her existence before I plug her as well) whose fingers are so skilled in the medium of massage that he once massaged the Gordian Knot into a neat and tidy length of coiled rope? A man whose penetrative fingering skills (oh please, you at the back, do grow up) are so supernaturally effective that he once made the incredible Hulk fall asleep on his massage table? Who massaged all the rage out of Chuck Norris, the bitterness out of Wile E Coyote and the gerbil out of Richard Gere?*
He’s Six foot of rock hard sinew and sin,
Don’t ask where it’s going; it’s going in!
The man of the hour, too sweet to be sour,
The ladies pet, the gentleman’s regret,
You get what you see, and what you don’t see is better yet!
It’s the World’s Heavyweight Champion of Massage,
On a slightly less Billy Graham(‘rassler, not preacher) rhetoric note, Jon is a friend of mine that worked with me behind the bar, and he has provided both me and the wife with his talented massage skills, and has helped us out immensely. I understand that his local area of Ware, Hertfordshire, may a little out of the way for you guys around the world in Curacao, India and Canada, but if your commute’s a little closer to Hertfordshire, and you need a bit of muscular help or even just relaxation, then please do investigate his services. He’s that wonderful combination of being very good and passionate at what he does, but bloody awful at promoting himself; he really is one of he most genuine human beings I have ever had the pleasure of pulling a pint with, for, or even near. Please do excuse the blatant plugging, but not only is he very good as what he does, but he’s got the stones to start up his own company, and that deserves pushing. Most of my friends work for large companies and I’m not about to push them – ‘Have you guys ever tried this little bistro coffee place I’ve just discovered? Its called STARBUCKS and they do really good artisan coffee. You should check them out sometime’**. Anyway, please go make my friend Jon rich and famous so that I can mooch off him. Websites below.
Love y’all, Stevo
(He’s not the son of God, but they do share the same initials. There’s got to be something in that.)
*Events may have been dramatized, exaggerated or just been made up for promotional purposes. But don’t let that put you off, he’s really very good, and potentially capable of all the things I’ve claimed.
**I don’t like coffee, so I don’t know. I’m sure they don’t need your money though.