Or, this:
Because everything about this is pretty much the best thing, I will just start with most best, and move through least best (but still pretty best.)
Most best: "Want to get on my massage table tonight," in conjunction with creepy photo in a dark room.
Next best: He is not only in a dark room, but also shirtless in a bathrobe.
Third best, barely less best than the first two bests: "I am very trained well. You need one after a hard monday? Table is heated as well." This actually might become first best, if you read it with a Russian/Slavic accent.
Speaking of pervs, it is pretty hard not to feel like one, when wandering around workshops at a dance competition, making short video clips for a b-reel of girls 8-18 dancing around in what amounts to be sports bras and hot pants. Which is what I did all weekend, at the behest of Joe the homosexual vampire, director of this particular dance competition. I spent several hours, weaving in and out amongst young, dancing females, and then sifting though, editing, cutting, and moving 100's of clips to create a fairly pointless 3 minute video, so said females could scream and point when they saw themselves pop up on the screen for 3 seconds, at the end of the competition.
Over the weekend, I found myself filled with deep regret that I didn't somehow have an innate desire to be a dancer as a young lad, in conjunction with incredible resilience to homosexual jokes and the persecution which would inherently accompany any male child being a dancer in the 90's (and probably now.) Regret, because I think that when young, manly boys (boyhood me) are shunning all thoughts of dance, they (I) are not thinking about the fact that, while dancing seems naturally feminine, this isn't a bad thing--because one (me) will be constantly surrounded by females. Females that see you (me) as a novelty, being in the 3% of dancers that are male.
45 year old guy would not be having to lure females into massage traps via Craigslist had he been a dancer.
Oh, the bitter, burning regret.
