So a billionaire walks into a massage parlor. By all accounts a skanky massage parlor in a ghetto Florida suburb. If he really wanted a massage, he probably has a dozen or so massaging professionals working for him. He owns the New England Patriots, therapists of this ilk routinely travel with the team and so if he tends to have a tightness in his gluts, well, he has people for that.
Selling Your Soul For 59 Bucks
