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Now where were we...let's see, ah yes, I just got my kiss from the Spider Woman.

So that brings us to the venture from the bar to the hotel. Which I can tell you would have been a much more interesting story if it were based upon our first trip to Israel, given the fact that I was so drunk that cab drivers refused to pick me up (the basis of the story).

While I'm afraid I can't relay that particular story to you, this time was only mildly less entertaining as on the walk home between the hotel and the bar, is the US Embassy. Now for those of you who have been living in a fucking cave for the past twelve weeks, Israel and Palestine haven't exactly been playing nice recently. Palestines are Arabs, so therefore by proxy the Israelis have been going at it with the Arabs. Israel is an ally if the US, so therefore by proxy the US has been going at it with all Arabs.

If I can take a minute here and explain my understanding of, or rather the state of being, drunk. I prefer to think of it as a fog that resides between rational thought and your impulse actions. If you're sober, then there is no fog and rational thought has complete control over your actions... you don't spit on anyone, slap someone who says something to offend you, or say for example take a piss on a road barrier. Now, conversely, should you be drunk, you may do things such as pinch the asses of girls's you don't know, walk blindly in front of a Tel Aviv Taxi Driver, or in some rare occasions choose to relieve yourself on the grounds of the US Embassy under the watchful eye of many armed guards.

Now we've all read on the news about where some Israeli cop takes his fucking machine gun to some Palestinian fuck who tries to run a roadblock, so shit what's he going to do to some poor traveller from another country that's taking a piss behind some building in his country's capital? I've got to piss *bad*, and I mean bad to the point where I'm walking funny. To make matters even tougher for me, unlike places of business in the US -- restaurants or pool halls or bars -- here in Israel they won't let you in if you're simply going to use the bathroom. Not to mention that AJ an I spent all the sheckels we had at Joey's and didn't have any way to get into places with a cover charge (insert Jew joke here).

Then like a light at the end of the tunnel, like the glorious beaming newborn sun at each morning horizon, I saw my savior. The Stars and Stripes. Old Glory. Stars and Bars. All fucking thirteen and fifty of em. The US Fucking Embassy. And I knew that having my US passport in my pocket this meant one thing... I could use the fucking bathroom. Yeah, that's right, take a giant piss in good ol American toilet, flush my good ol American handle, and take American pride in knowing that I just released enough water to supply a whole Ethiopian tribe for a month.

Curious thing about the US Embassy in Tel Aviv... it's not guarded by Americans. Now I've seen movied like "The Saint" and "Red Corner" and I completely expected to find nothing but America's finest -- US Marines (Arugh!) -- guarding our gates. WRONG. There are these fucking Israeli guys in khakis and denim shirts guarding MY Embassy. What the fuck? The US Embassy is Sacred American Soil. To be treated as if it were part of the continental homeland itself. So why the fuck is not Specialist Mark Jones not protecting it and not AMIDKF ZIHALF? I don't fuckig know, people. But none the less, lets get back to the dominant problem here, I have to take a piss. Despite my Spidey Senses demanding me not to, I approached the nearest US Embassy Guard and presented him with my problem. "Dude, I've got to piss like a running bear. Is there a bathroom that I can use?"

The Israeli Guard Fuck (IGF) looks at me as if I've just finger fucked his twelve year old sister, "What?"

Well," I restate, "I'm an American citizen and need to use the bathroom," (somehow forgetting that Israelis have no fucking sense of humor and will kill you on sight), "can I use a bathroom in the Embassy?"

IGF then turnsaway from me and puts his hand over his fucking ear. Now to those of you who are sober and have watched "Clear and Present Danger" you know he's talking to some kind of central base asking what the fuck this drunk guy wants. I on the other hand am crossing my legs and stamping my feet like a little girl. And here I am, an American Citizen, standing on American Soil, and can't take an American Piss. What the fuck is this? What would Samuel Adams think?

IGF comes back from his handset conversation and says in good Israeli hospitality, "You have to go." "Yeah fuck I do," I counter, the mental fog getting thicker then ever, "this is my country." Now perhaps that's the thing to say if you're dealing with an Israeli used car dealer. However in this case, I'm dealing with an Isreali guard who's sworn his life to protect the US Embassy. He returns to his earpiece mumbling something in that gibberish that my drunken self has come to know as Hebrew.

"Wait here." the IGF demands, and I can see out of my peripherial vision two other people coming into view from beside the building on my left -- evidently more IGF's. The schmoe I'm talking to hears them and leans to see them. As he leans I can see something under his cotton button down shirt... the barrel of a fucking gun. Hmmm, at's this point that the first moment of concern enters my mind. Guns and bullets are a reason for concern. Suddenly I don't have to piss so bad. He leans further and says something to them in Hebrew... as he leane I can see more of the piece he's got strapped around his shoulder... it's an UZI. Yes those mythological Israeli machine guns that spray 200 9mm bullets in about three seconds.

At this point, much like Animal house, a Devil and an Angel appeared on my shoulder, both counter-contrasts to the other.

Devil: "Fuck him, you're a US citizen and you own these motherfuckers. Piss on his shoes and then go blow your nose in the bathroom once he brings you."

Angel: Fuck that. Make tracks.

Well, angel won out kids. Sort of. "Thank you." I say and turn around and make fucking tracks away from the US Embassy guards... suddenly I don't have to use the bathroom anymore and wonder what I would tell them if they pulled me inside to a urinal and told me to perform and I was bladder shy. A guy in high school once told me "there's nothing faster then a scared wite boy," and wouldn't you know it, he was right? My legs briskly carried me away from that US Embassy and the three IGF's faster then you could imagine. Down 50 yards (yeah yards you European fucks, not meters but yards) we walked to the end of their domain. The Stars and Stripes still waving in the brisk Israeli wind.

After slowing to a walking pace for awhile, I realized something... I still had to pee. I looked at the IGF's.... way at the other end of the Embassy. This, ladies and gentlemen, is my chance. I marches the ten feet up to the nearest concrete road barrier protecting the US Embassy, and whipped out none other then LITTLE ERNIE. That's right, you may not have seen the US flag flying high over the Embassy in Israel, but my cock sure has.

And so I pissed. I pissed well, and I pissed hard. I pissed not out of malice like some fuck French Frog may have, but our of nostalgia. You see folks, then you're in some foreign fucking land, pissing on the grounds of the United Fucking States Embassy is no different then pulling over and relieving yourself on the side of the New Jersey Turnpike. This is your turf and blessed as it may you've got to do your business. Ever hear the Sweet Mother Earth cry and moan when you relieved yourself during a camping trip at Yosemite park? I didn't think so.

About halfway through my relief, the IGF's noticed my festivities and moved to intervine. Too fucking late kids. Little Ernie may not be long, but he's wide and I finished my business in record time, right on the side of a concrete barrier. No questions asked.

I zipped up, turned and walked away minding my own business and ignoring the shouts of the IGF's behind me. Hell, they couldn't leave their post anyway. I walked home feeling GOOD.

But along the way, I did stop to help some Isreali dude to push his broken down car. Drunk Americans are so helpful. We pushed it going until he was able to pop the clutch and start it. Huray! Did I get a 'thankyou'? No!

Next update will come faster as I'm off work for two days and we'll get to the good stuff -- the Russian strip club! And trust me this is the best part. (PS -- I also have a picture of me in front of the Embassy, but given that it was a disposable camera and it was dark out it didn't come out well, but I'll post it soon.)

To Part V... the slingshot, the Cococabana, and much more...