Rejuvenating, isn't it?

So anyway as I was saying earlier, Timmy was getting ready for his day at the spa.
What? What do you mean 'Who's Timmy?' Weren't you listening? You should really be more focused...
Timmy is in no way gay, nor is he particularly curious about anything; he's just an ordinary man with a somewhat childish name. As a matter of fact, the only noticeable thing about Timmy is that he doesn't feel the need to blink a lot (he says that blinking is a form of weakness and that most traffic accidents occur while the motorists are blinking...). Most of his friends, like him, enjoy the simple pleasures of life, like watching several cars race around an oval track for hours on end, cheering loudly when the occasional, but always brutal, crash occur. And in between those crashes, they talk about hockey, that lovely lady they saw at McDonald's last weekend, and the price of gas. Timmy doesn't like talking about his body, or any part of it except maybe his partial right pinky. He's proud of it and always willing to explain, in great and sometimes very gory details, what happened on that fateful Christmas eve of 1998. But we won't dwell on that story, so let's just say that operating a brand new snow blower while inebriated is not a very bright idea.
So on one of their Nascar nights, during a shampoo commercial, the subject of dry skin came up for some reason. Timmy didn't say much, except that his right pinky didn't feel dry at all... But after consuming several cases of beer the four of them decided it was time they joined the twenty first century and became aware of their subtle feminine side. They all decided that a day at the spa was the way to go. Needless to say the next morning Timmy felt like he was being pulled into this against his will, but decided to follow his friends because who wants to be alone on a Saturday afternoon?...
And that's about when you came in. So Timmy was getting ready for this endeavour, a little bit nervous but mostly apprehensive about the prospect of showing his partially naked body to strangers. But whatever he was feeling at that moment, he couldn't possibly have been prepared for what was going to happen next.
He got to the spa center, somewhere in the forest but still relatively close to the city, and the sheer size of the complex confused him. He was expecting a small cabin with a couple of massage rooms, a hot tub and a small pool, or something in that general idea, but what he had in front of him was more like a collection of mansions surrounded by trees, large rocks, a waterfall, and small concealed speakers playing a soothing melody. But that's not all; when he got the the front desk, there were so many people waiting in line that he thought he was at a Metallica concert. And not just middle-aged women, but teenagers, young men and women, couples, and even middle-aged men. 'Am I at the right place? Is that really a spa?' Timmy asked the corpulent 37-ish man standing before him. 'Yup! And if we're lucky, we won't wait more than an hour and a half! Today the spa seems not too packed...' So he had been here before. He wasn't being dragged here as a result of a drunken promise.
Fast forward two excruciating hours of standing in line and listening to conversations around him about how wonderful this place was, and how lucky they were to live in a society that allowed them to take such good care of their body and mind. By then his three friends had left. The lady at the front desk greets Timmy with a very exaggerated smile of total wellness and happiness, and asks him what his reservation number is.
'Reservation? Huh... Well I didn't know that.... What?????'
'I'm sorry sir but you need a reservation to have access to our facilities. Next!'
...
...
I could tell you everything that went through Timmy's mind at that moment, and I could tell you how much he wanted to jump over that counter and insert the clerk's head in the computer monitor. But violence is not welcomed in such a peaceful environment, and Timmy decided to calmly leave, keeping all the violent and ugly things bottled up in him.
But there is one thing about Timmy that I feel I should mention at this point. He doesn't give up easily, and takes any offence really seriously. There was no way that this stupid spa would win. He was going to spend that day at the spa even if it killed him. So when he got home he called and made a reservation for the next Saturday. That'll teach'em.
So after a week of furious anticipation, our rebellious Timmy is back and ready to feel rejuvenated. After once again a really long wait, he gets to the counter and proudly, even maybe a little too loudly, says his reservation number. The clerk asks him what package he wants, and the emptiness in Timmy's eyes tells her that he has no idea of what he's actually here for. So she explains all the options very quickly, and saves the bomb for last. Brace yourselves.
'But our best service is definitely this: Rectal Bliss.'
'I'm sorry, what?'
'Rectal Bliss. We pour warm coffee in your rectum, which liberates special hormones and pheromones and envelops you in a state of pure bliss. It's the new thing, and it's the best ever!'
'You pour what in my what now?'
'Coffee in you rectum. It's very relaxing!'
'...'
'You'll see, sir, everybody loves our Rectal Bliss.'
'WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE??? You're supposed to DRINK the coffee, not pour it in you arse!!!!!'
'But sir, don't you know that coffee is very bad for your body? You shouldn't ingest it, caffeine is bad for you.'
'So I guess that one morning you saw that on the news and told yourself "Then I guess I'll pour it in my rear end, that'll be better!"'
'...Sir there's no need to be vulgar! It is a genuine treatment for stress and I personally vouch for it! And by the way I never drank coffee, I always knew it would throw my body off-balance.'
'Off-balance?? Lady you have no idea how "off-balance" you sound right now. You people make me sick! You're all messed up! I'm outta here!'

So Timmy never experienced the Rectal Bliss, or any other wellness package for that matter.
He still enjoys beer, chicken wings, and Nascar.