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A Fat Kid's Trip to Tel Aviv. Part III

click here for part one

click here for part two

Now where were we...let's see, ah yes, getting loaded at Joey's Bar.

As I was saying, it wasn't until about midnight or so that I realized there was a fat Israeli chick sitting next to me at the bar. Now to say that an Israeli girl is fat is kind of like a contradiction in terms and you have to remember I'm speaking objectively as we Americans were rated the fattest country in the world last year. Israelis -- both men and women -- are in fucking terrific almost model perfect shape. Granted, this is most likely because they're always getting called into Reserve military duty to go shoot some rubber bullets at some knuckleheaded Palestinian kid, but hey, that's none of my fat lazy American business. Anyways it's later in the evening when I've got a wonderful buzz on, the music is thumping right in my fucking ears, I've already spilled half a beer down my pat leg (boy did I stink...HAHAHAH get it? Stink? Beer? Israeli beer stink? Get it? ....) when I noticed that despite all the conversations and socializing that was going on around me, nobody was talking to this fat chick.

Now, being the fine gentlemen that I was raised to be (you read as "since there's no way any of the good looking Israeli girls will talk to me, what the hell) I take a swig of by beer and venture into the unknown -- the meek may inherit the Earth, but not on my fucking watch and definitely not when I'm drunk. I'll be honest, I really have no fucking clue what I said to break the ice, but I'm pretty sure it worked since I had the little porker smiling and giggling, and within a few minutes I was sneaking glances down her shirt. We went through all the normal bullshit that one might expect for trying to make small talk with someone from another country, "what do you do, what are you here for, how long are you here for..." all that crap. Blah, blah, blah. After about fime minutes of this protocol chat, I notice her drink's empty. Now, I know that no matter where you are in the world, no matter what langauage you speak, no matter how rude the women are, get them loaded and they'll get naked. I mean hey, that's just a fact of life. You live and you die, you get drunk and you get naked. "Sal," I bellow, "another drink for me and my lady friend here. (I say lady friend because to be honest I was too drunk to remember her name). Sal serves me up two with a smile, knowing that I had been commenting to him before about how difficult it was to approach Israeli chicks.

At this point, the Porker decides that she had better hit the ladies room. Apparently all this time sitting alone sucking down drinks takes its toll, and she lowers her portly ass off the stool and makes her way towards the bathroom. No problem. Again, the Stewart charm takes over and I slide an ass cheek over to her bar stool, you know, saving it for her since the place was so crowded. Half a minute goes by. Sal gives me a wink as passes on his way to welcome more people to Joey's Bar. Life is good. It's then, that I am revelling in my intercontinental fucking coolness that I get tapped on the shoulder. "Hmmm, must be Porker's back," I think to myself and turn to face said tapper. There facing me was a smiling "average" Israeli girl. By average I mean she was about a 9.0, maybe 9.5, tall slender hips, huge swlling bosum, dark eyes, long curly dark hair, and wearing a shirt with a neckline that plunged to damn near near her navel when she bends just right. "Hi!" she squeeks with a big grin on her face.

I'll be honest, a person cooler then myself, like maybe James Bond, could have probably come up with a better response. But, being that I'm me, I mumble, "...Me?" See, even drunk I'm humble. "Yeah," she counters, "what's your name?" Now in the next following milliseconds a lot of fucking thoughts went through my head. First I'm thinking AJ paid this girl a few bucks to be nice to me just so she can kick me in the balls in a few minutes. Nope, he's involved with a conversation with someone else (turns out to be Carl the Cocaine dealer, we'll talk about him later... and no, AJ doesn't do cocaine). Then pretty much awe stuck me, "wow, an Israeli chick is talking to me. Heh, heh, heh, I rock." Instantly, I ooze coolness. I'm moving up the food chain here folks, and let me tell you life is better. Again me and this new Hot Israeli Bitch (HIB) begin to make the usual small talk. Deja Vu happens as I find myself asking and answering the same questions I was before with the Fat Israeli Bitch (FIB), only granted this time I make my job sound more exciting and try to lean a way where she can't see my receding hairline. Hey I may be drunk, but I'm not fucking stupid. Her name was something-or-other (still drunk) and I remember she spent some years in the States, so we had something to talk about. I ended up getting a picture of her (on the right) and her girlfriend (on the left). She started telling me about her experiences on the NY subway, and then it was like watching an airplane crash in slow motion.

It's here that my life went to perfect shit. How this happened I'm not quite sure but watching it unfold before my very eyes was pretty horrifying in its own right.

I guess it can be most easily summed up like this... the fat chick came back.

As I'm talking to the HIB, my peripherial vision picks up something on the horizon. My Spidey senses go off. Something smells a'foul. I'm pretty sure life is going to take a drastic turn for the worst. Parting her way through the crowd and then -- literally -- elbowing the HIB aside, is the FIB. Horror grips my body and I can't move. She gets back and motions for me to relinquich control over her barstool. I am dumbfounded. I can't move. "I'm back," she says as she glances the HIBs's way, "thanks for saving my seat." I however, respond in true American fashion which no doubt would have made Samuel Adams himself beam with pride. "Doh."

The FIB looks at the HIB. The HIB looks at the FIB. Both the FIB and the HIB look at me. I in turn stare blankly at first the FIB and then the HIB. They turn once again to face each other. FIB settles herself down in her barstool, grabs her fresh drink that I just fucking paid for, and turns away. The HIB shoots me this Look Of Death, turns, and marches back to her girlfriends. (Who were all HIB's, I might add).

"Fuck," I scream out in the bar, "Fuck my life!"

I rose from the depths of ambiguity, struggled my way into the heart and mind of one Israeli chick, then was invited into the heart and mind of another and before my very eyes, tumbled down to the dank void that is nothingness. I felt like Milli Vanilli. Denied. Shut down. Toasted. Broken.

I made one vain attempt at damage dontrol with the HIB, but got the disctinct impression she wouldn't cross the street to crush a cigarette out on my ass. Dammit! I did not ask for this to happen! I did not attempt to play one girl against the other! Damn you Fates! So, I did what any other red blooded American male would do. "Sal!! Another boilermaker over here!" My drink arrived with the swiftness rivaled only by the Northern winds, "Tough break," Sal says reassuringly. Apparently he and the other bartenders were watching the action from afar and they now compliment me with dashing smiles. I salute them with my glass and down the whole shootin match... 16 ounce beer with shot of vodka. Damned be the meek.

Now, just a word to all you guys out there who are going to write in and say, "you should have said this" or " you should have said that." I say to you all, aw, bullshit. I was doomed, and there was nothing I could have said or done to save myself. I was the Titanic. (Although at a later time I thought I might have been able to have just offered the FIB's seat to the HIB and then feign ignorance once the FIB came back. However in all fairness I do run the risk of finding another chick who taught hand to hand combat, or even worse. Remember, all Israeli chicks are required to go in their military for two years. Israeli chicks are not to be fucked with).

Carl the Cocaine Dealer

Distraught and rejected, I turn to male companionship. No, not like that, you fucking queer, I mean to drink with. "Where ya been?" AJ questions. "Fuck off," I reply, and belch in his face as the poisons of the Boilermaker begin to course through my veins. AJ waves his hand in front of his face to bring in some fresh air and thumbs towards the guy he's talking to, "This is Carl. He's British but he lives here. Gonna open his own bar." Hey, any man who's going to promote drinking is a friend of mine. We exchange drunken handshakes and then Carl introduces me to some chick that he's with. Another Hot Israeli Bitch. Ain't that just my luck.

Time passed with the four of us talking. Well, AJ talking, the HIB talking, Carl and myself mumbling, and me staring at the HIB's tits. You can take a man out of the US, but you can't take the US out of the man.

Then *she* walked past me. There's one in every club, every night. The one chick who wears a top that looks like bikini underwear stretched over her tits. This, ladies and gentlemen, is the girl for me. And even better, aside from being half naked, she's got tattoos. Now I've got a steadfast rule -- don't fuck with chicks with tattoos. So here's an *Israeli* girl *with* tattoos. Only nitroglycerine is more demaning of your steadfast respect and gentle handling. Then it occured to me, this is obviously something I should do drunk. Despite warnings from AJ, Carl and the other HIB, I hopped off my barstool and made my way through the crowd. Through the crowd and to the Spider Woman.

Again, I will have to apologize to you, fair reader, for not being coherent enough to remember the actual words exchanged when I introduced myself. Suffice to say they were sufficient, and most importantly I remember one of the best bullshit lines of my entire life. I had decided early on in this trip to get many pictures with Israeli chicks as possible, with my prize being one with a female Israeli soldier holding her Uzi, of which I would entitle "Isareli chick with nice guns." Alas, the final goal did elude me for this trip, but I did, I say again, I did get one with the Spider Woman.

Now, given the fact that she has gone out to a club nearly naked and had several tattoos of skulls, spiders, and such, one might understand that this woman has a rather 'in your face' attitude. No suprise. "Why do you want a picture with me?" she demands, eyes searching me up and down looking for one shred of fear or dishonesty so she could devour me like a terrified lamb. Hey, remember the movie "The Terminitor" when Arnold is in his hotel room pulling our his eye and the guy knocks on the door and from Arnold's point of view he had that list of responses to say? Well, I was kind of like that. Choice A -- because you've got great tits. Choice B - because you're half naked. Choice C -- because you're really fucking weird and I like that. Well, I chose Choice D. I grabbed her by her arm and pulled her close so nobody else could hear me (as it turns out AJ did), "because when I get back home and I tell all my friends about how beautiful Israeli girls are, I want to have a nice picture to show them and I don't see anyone here more beautiful then you," and then I let her arm go. She backed away *fucking speechless*. I'm thinking, "Well, I'm either "in" or "dead".

As we took the picture I remember thinking, "it can't be that easy." Well, it was that easy.


Part IV.. the US Embassy guards, pushing the stalled car, the slingshot, and much more...

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