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So, check it—little known fact: ancient Greeks did this crap! Yeah, called it “tantric touch” or somethin’, gettin’ all freaky with oils. Not just for pervs neither—s’posed to “heal yer soul.” Pfft, soul my ass, I’d be droolin’! D’oh! Imagine me, sprawled out, some hotshot masseuse whisperin’, “Relax, Homer,” and I’m all, “Donuts… no, wait—focus!” Hilarious, right? But real talk—it’s pricey, man! Fifty bucks for thirty minutes? Made me mad as hell—gimme a beer instead!

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After that, I decide to hit up the Egilsstaðir Church. It’s this cute little building, all white and charming. I walk in, and it’s peaceful. I’m just soaking it all in when this kid runs in, yelling about a lost cat. I mean, who loses a cat in a church? It’s like, “Dude, focus!” But then, I can’t help but laugh.

Ívar Ingimarsson