The Lady behind the bar served me my drink and gave me a card. Welcome to The Arm Bar it said. Underneath were some extraordinary puzzling things, like: Single Arm Bar, Single Double Arm Bar and Duo Double Arm Bar. All with the numbers 15-30-45-60 printed behind them. I had no idea what it all meant, but I didn’t want to look like an idiot, so I went for the Duo Double 60. Whatever that might be. A cocktail perhaps? I had to go upstairs, where two lovely Ladies told me to lay down and relax. A massage! Why didn’t I think of that before! Sixteen seconds later my arms were tightly locked in an armbar (aha!). The pain was excruciating, it really was. I screamed like a pig with an ulcer, but they kept me barred in agony for an hour. When I went home that night I looked like Frankenstein, unable to raise my arms and mumbling gibberish. Awesome!