Israel: My Favorite “Country” (Aside From TEXAS That Is.)

IDF Short:

Silent Eyes–Paul Simon:

So Iran is pissed off at Israel??

Threatening Israel.

Really?!

HEY IRAN! FUCK AROUND. FIND OUT!

Israel has the strongest, best military in the Mideast. They have the fiercest soldiers. They have the best technology. What you gonna do Iran? Throw camel shit against nukes?

Good fucking luck with that.

As anyone who knows me, knows

I lived

In that region for three years. I had a flat in Tel Aviv. I KNOW these people.

FUCK WITH THEM AT YOUR DESERVED PERIL

They don’t fuck around.

They don’t play.

Better Watch your Khomeini Ass

Sharm–Not Too Much Harm. “Random Memories from The Middle East: The Road to Sharm el Sheikh” I May Be Drunken–Please Ignor And / Forgive Me.

And, Oh Yes!

Lance is an IDIOT!

Savant

For Lack of a Want

Idiot Savant:

I’ll Drop The Cred Later–Maybe

And Y’all Know I’m Just An Asshole From El Paso:

Loud & Proud!

And If’n Y’all Don’t Unnerstan’

How

‘Tongue-in-Cheek this is…

Well..

***

https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=ignor

*****

Parts  One  Two  Three  

*** 

I sped off still heading south. I observed her fade fast in my rear-view mirror, but not before I saw her mouth hanging open in wide disbelief (As if I were actually calling her bluff). After about a half-mile and her no longer in sight, I stopped, opened a beer, popped in a Joni Mitchell–Hejira–cranked it up, lit a Marlboro and waited.

Presently I could make out her petite form marching through the sandy haze, her skinny arms flailing back and forth, not unlike a power-walker. As I watched her approach I snuffed out my second cigarette, tossed the empty beer bottle onto the back floorboard, turned down the volume on Joni’s Black Crow, and waited to see if she was getting back in the car.

She opened the door, threw herself in and off we drove, not saying a word until we got within about five clicks of Sharm el Sheikh. Her face was dirty with trails of sweat running down, making small rivers of mud, her hair windblown and looking to have absorbed quite some substantial part of the Sinai.

She did not look happy.

“Are you sorry?” she finally blurted out.

“Sorry? Sorry for what?”

“Sorry for being an asshole,” she said.

“Oh, that… What!?” I was genuinely confused.

“For refusing to have sex with me this morning after that Israeli dude left.”

Now I am laughing. She wasn’t.

“Are you fucking serious Janet?” I asked after I had regained some composure. “You heard the man. We had to vacate. Did you think I was in the mood for love? With the IDF watching us? Shit Woman! It was time to go.”

“There was time enough… in the tent,” she said somewhat between clenched teeth and somewhat subdued—at the same time—a talent she had perfected over some years. (Ed. Note: Janet had five years on me)

“You are unbelievable. Okay, ‘I’m sorry for not fucking you’. Gimme another go? Right here. Right now. In this fuckin’ heat and in this fuckin’ sardine can of a car? Or would you prefer it on the burning sand with the scorpions and spiders?! For Chrissake Janet!”

“There was a time when you’d never refuse me, no matter where or what,” she said and then clammed up, starring out the window.

Fine! I thought as I gave the volume back up to Joni.

Just on the outskirts of Sharm (The whole Sinai Pennisula was ‘Outskirts’) we came upon a Bedioun ‘roadside do drop in’ sort of place.

“Hey Janet! Let’s check this out.”

“Can’t we just go in to Sharm?”

“No. I wanna talk to these folks. Besides they may have some stuff we need.”

“Fine.” (And then someday too soon, this woman would be my wife…)

I parked the car and got out. Janet cleaned her sunglasses and remained behind. I walked up to the ramshackle place and was greeted by an old grizzled Bedouin.

“Salaam alaikum,” I said.

“Salaam alaikum,” he said back. Then, “Amer-ca?”

“Yes,” said. “English? Speak?”

“La’, (no)

(I spoke just enough Arabic (and Hebrew) to get me into trouble back then.)

“Sodas? Coke-a-cola?” I asked.

“Naam,” 

“OK. Baksheesh?”

“Naam.”

I gave him a pack of Marlboros. He gave me two cokes. Apparently inflation had set in here. I smiled though and shook his hand, happy to have made some cultural advancement. Jimmy Carter shoulda seen me that day. Got back in the car. Janet, still incogneto, remarked,

“Was that worth it?”

“Yes. It was. Thank you. We are reps of the State Department. WE are suppose to be ambassadors. Don’t you git it?’

“Yeah. I ‘git’ it. I get that I want this trip to end soon. I am tired and hot and sweaty and thirsty and hungry and horny. And I see no end in sight for me.”

We drove on into Sharm.

As I have reported, Sharm back then was not much. There was one hotel, but who had money (or desire) for that? It had a tentative look about it anyhow. This was ‘Israeli-Occupied Egypt’ after all and finding investors to pump money into a region, however beautiful, must have been difficult, given the  volatility of the times and the probability that Israel would eventually give the desert back to Egypt (even though Israel had ‘held’ the Sinai for more than ten years at this point)

Past the hotel was a small ‘camping ground’ of sorts. There were ‘bird houses’ for rent: ten bucks per night and a communal shower/latrine area. I say ‘bird houses’, because that is exactly what they resembled:

Thatched roof, two wooden ‘bunks’ side-by-side, and too small for a six-foot-one cowboy to sleep on. I lay down and test-drove one. I discovered that by leaving the door open I could be fine with the sleeping arrangements, letting my feet hang out, though if Janet and I were to have some privacy for any ‘Woo-Hoo’ / ‘Whoopee’, we would have to pretend we were in the back seat of a compact car and make due. (Unless we opted to keep the door open: an option my shyness would never allow me to consider)

At this point I must admit Janet was always a trooper during such times. She was of course a soldier, albeit a weekend one, and had previous experience with less-than-pristine habiliments. After we had decided to spend the night at this place, taken our showers, had some drink and sandwiches, her mood (and mine) improved as the sun went down and the heat subsided. Behind us were the mountains. In front of us, the sea, and ahead of us, our future.

We were after all, two lovebirds deep in love and in our own private birdhouse.

We made love in that birdhouse after sundown.

And with the door open.

And why not?

We were young.

(And we had all that ‘Diplomatic Immunity’  bullshit to boot)

*****

I love Joni’s smile. She don’t smile often, but when she does… magical shit happens. Shoots bolts Straight Through my Heart Baby!

****

Joni is On-My-Mind!—Joni: “We’re Captive on a Carousel of Time.” I have Lost My Mind! Do Not Read This Vanity Post! It Is Only For Joni

To Be Continued…

Sharm–Not Too Much Harm. “Random Memories from The Middle East: The Road to Sharm el Sheikh” I may Be Drunken–Please Ignor Me.

Parts  One  Two  Three  

*** 

I sped off still heading south. I observed her fade fast in my rear-view mirror, but not before I saw her mouth hanging open in wide disbelief (As if I were actually calling her bluff). After about a half-mile and her no longer in sight, I stopped, opened a beer, popped in a Joni Mitchell–Hejira–cranked it up, lit a Marlboro and waited.

Presently I could make out her petite form marching through the sandy haze, her skinny arms flailing back and forth, not unlike a power-walker. As I watched her approach I snuffed out my second cigarette, tossed the empty beer bottle onto the back floorboard, turned down the volume on Joni’s Black Crow, and waited to see if she was getting back in the car.

She opened the door, threw herself in and off we drove, not saying a word until we got within about five clicks of Sharm el Sheikh. Her face was dirty with trails of sweat running down, making small rivers of mud, her hair windblown and looking to have absorbed quite some substantial part of the Sinai.

She did not look happy.

“Are you sorry?” she finally blurted out.

“Sorry? Sorry for what?”

“Sorry for being an asshole,” she said.

“Oh, that… What!?” I was genuinely confused.

“For refusing to have sex with me this morning after that Israeli dude left.”

Now I am laughing. She wasn’t.

“Are you fucking serious Janet?” I asked after I had regained some composure. “You heard the man. We had to vacate. Did you think I was in the mood for love? With the IDF watching us? Shit Woman! It was time to go.”

“There was time enough… in the tent,” she said somewhat between clenched teeth and somewhat subdued—at the same time—a talent she had perfected over some years. (Ed. Note: Janet had five years on me)

“You are unbelievable. Okay, ‘I’m sorry for not fucking you’. Gimme another go? Right here. Right now. In this fuckin’ heat and in this fuckin’ sardine can of a car? Or would you prefer it on the burning sand with the scorpions and spiders?! For Chrissake Janet!”

“There was a time when you’d never refuse me, no matter where or what,” she said and then clammed up, starring out the window.

Fine! I thought as I gave the volume back up to Joni.

Just on the outskirts of Sharm (The whole Sinai Pennisula was ‘Outskirts’) we came upon a Bedioun ‘roadside do drop in’ sort of place.

“Hey Janet! Let’s check this out.”

“Can’t we just go in to Sharm?”

“No. I wanna talk to these folks. Besides they may have some stuff we need.”

“Fine.” (And then someday too soon, this woman would be my wife…)

I parked the car and got out. Janet cleaned her sunglasses and remained behind. I walked up to the ramshackle place and was greeted by an old grizzled Bedouin.

“Salaam alaikum,” I said.

“Salaam alaikum,” he said back. Then, “Amer-ca?”

“Yes,” said. “English? Speak?”

“La’, (no)

(I spoke just enough Arabic (and Hebrew) to get me into trouble back then.)

“Sodas? Coke-a-cola?” I asked.

“Naam,” 

“OK. Baksheesh?”

“Naam.”

I gave him a pack of Marlboros. He gave me two cokes. Apparently inflation had set in here. I smiled though and shook his hand, happy to have made some cultural advancement. Jimmy Carter shoulda seen me that day. Got back in the car. Janet, still incogneto, remarked,

“Was that worth it?”

“Yes. It was. Thank you. We are reps of the State Department. WE are suppose to be ambassadors. Don’t you git it?’

“Yeah. I ‘git’ it. I get that I want this trip to end soon. I am tired and hot and sweaty and thirsty and hungry and horny. And I see no end in sight for me.”

We drove on into Sharm.

As I have reported, Sharm back then was not much. There was one hotel, but who had money (or desire) for that? It had a tentative look about it anyhow. This was ‘Israeli-Occupied Egypt’ after all and finding investors to pump money into a region, however beautiful, must have been difficult, given the  volatility of the times and the probability that Israel would eventually give the desert back to Egypt (even though Israel had ‘held’ the Sinai for more than ten years at this point)

Past the hotel was a small ‘camping ground’ of sorts. There were ‘bird houses’ for rent: ten bucks per night and a communal shower/latrine area. I say ‘bird houses’, because that is exactly what they resembled: Thatched roof, two wooden ‘bunks’ side-by-side, and too small for a six-foot-one cowboy to sleep on. I lay down and test-drove one. I discovered that by leaving the door open I could be fine with the sleeping arrangements, letting my feet hang out, though if Janet and I were to have some privacy for any ‘Woo-Hoo’ / ‘Whoopee’, we would have to pretend we were in the back seat of a compact car and make due. (Unless we opted to keep the door open: an option my shyness would never allow me to consider)

At this point I must admit Janet was always a trooper during such times. She was of course a soldier, albeit a weekend one, and had previous experience with less-than-pristine habiliments. After we had decided to spend the night at this place, taken our showers, had some drink and sandwiches, her mood (and mine) improved as the sun went down and the heat subsided. Behind us were the mountains. In front of us, the sea, and ahead of us, our future.

We were after all, two lovebirds deep in love and in our own private birdhouse.

We made love in that birdhouse after sundown.

And with the door open.

And why not?

We were young.

(And we had all that ‘Diplomatic Immunity’  bullshit to boot)

*****

I love Joni’s smile. She don’t smile often, but when she does… magical shit happens. Shoots bolts right through my heart Baby!

To Be Continued…

Expand On This? I’ll Get Around to it. For Now, Why Not Re-Post it? That’s My Story & I’m Stickin’ To It — Ever find a ‘Round Tuit? Rare They Are–Just Sayin’…Five Random Memories from my Three Years Spent in Israel, Egypt, Gaza, and Sinai

Round Tuit:

My very first morning at the Tel Aviv Sheraton. I had a ‘raw fish’ breakfast buffet at zero five hundred.

(And there were cucumbers, cheese, olives an’ shit too! Outrageous!) I had never had raw fish for breakfast until then. Cost me five bucks (a lot of money for breakfast in 1977 for a twenty-year-old-kid).

I only gagged once and I drank a lot of orange juice, which was the only thing remotely resembling ‘breakfast’ to me. Well, “When in Rome…” I later discovered I could have had scrambled eggs and bacon down the street at the U.S. Embassy for a buck and a half…

My first R&R in November, 1977. I went to Tel Aviv for one week. This just also happened to be the same week Anwar Sadat made his historic visit to Israel and most important, to speak to the Knesset in Jerusalem.

The Israelis actually fell in love with Sadat. I did too. Peace was in the air! Sadat was front page news every day in the Jerusalem Post. The atmosphere in downtown Tel Aviv every night was ‘Party Down!’ (Sadly, this could not last)

First Israeli Love. Her name was Gladys Lehani and she spoke French, English, Hebrew, and Lies. I was instantly enamored. She worked nights at the Tel Aviv Sheraton in the ‘Kum Kum’ Lounge, a bar.

During the afternoons she was a cashier in the little lobby area of the hotel. A place where one could look out the huge windows at the Mediterranean, have a cocktail, read a book, and flirt with her. I spent many hours there doing all four.

Driving through Gaza. After I had been with SFM for some months, I was ‘promoted’ to driver (see this story). The most expeditious way to get to Tel Aviv was to drive straight through the Gaza Strip, so of course we did just that.

Never felt any wisp of danger. Not once. Then one day someone threw a brick into the windshield of one of our vehicles. This prompted management (And S. State: Our ‘Client.’) to suspend all travel through Gaza.

Now let me tell you, this was bullshit. At that point in time we had been travelling through Gaza for many, many months. This was surely an isolated incident—“Just kids havin’ fun,”–to quote Croc Dundee. Hell! I had friends in Gaza.

One in particular comes to mind. His name was Mohammad (go figure) and he ran the gas station where I would always fill up my vehicles when I passed through.

We often shared gifts. I gave him American cigarettes and T-Shirts from Texas and he gave me various little Arabic statuettes and such. Once (on his request) I brought him a fifth of Jonnie Walker Red. I thought he was gonna adopt me over that!

The new route we were instructed to take took us through Beersheba and added two and a half hours to our travel time. This was unacceptable, so we (we drivers), ignored it, unless there were ‘uncool’, read, “USG” people riding along as passengers.

Most of the rest were in a frantic rush to get to TA and did not want to waste one minute of their well-earned R&R over some State Department Bullshit, so I always conducted a poll before taking the turn off to Gaza: “Any of y’all got a problem with getting to TA in an hour via Gaza? Or do Y’all wanna go through Beer’Sheba and get to TA four hours after yer girlfriends done give up on you?”

The usual response was something like this: “Marcom, I will risk Gaza, not ‘cause I am afraid my girlfriend will give up on me, but because I just can’t stan’ one extra minute of listening to your music!” (I had a boom box on the dash and ‘treated’ my passengers to four or five hours of continuous Bob Marley on my trips. I was famous for this. Sometimes I would throw in a little Joni Mitchell, if I were feeling benevolent on that day.)

The Orphan Benjamin. One night, I think it was in late ’78, I was staggering back to my hooch from our little bar. My walk took me through our game room: Two pool tables, a jukebox, shuffle board, ping pong… etc.

Anyway, just by the exit door there was a table. On this table was a carton of Marlboro’s, a case of Heineken, a ‘doggie bag’ from the galley, and a one hundred dollar bill.

Thinking nothing of it, I just kept on tacking toward my hooch, some fifty meters down the way… I woke up the next morning and instantly thought of all that unclaimed booty and for just an instant hoped that no one had stolen it.

We had a brother/sisterhood there in Sinai. I managed to drag my hung-over ass out of my rack and head in to breakfast in our galley. My trip took me past the table in question.

Everything was just as it was the night before; waiting for the rightful owner to sober up and claim. If I had not already been in love with my Co-SFM’ers till then, I certainly was now. Two hundred folks at SFM, and nary a thief amongst us. I will never forget that minor little memory. It touched me deep.

And then I just went into breakfast. You see? This was not… ‘different’ then! Shit! Can’t explain. Won’t try.

You see? We had love. And respect.

***

I am thinking of continuing this series in light of the recent news from Israel and Gaza.

Not saying that my experiences are relevant today, but I do feel the need to write them. Please let me know if you are interested to read of my times spent in the region.

Q&A: Have you ever been to The Middle East?

Do you live there?

Do you care? Have you ever had a desire to visit the ‘Holy Land’? (ahem). Do you find me abrasive? 😉

Do you know that I love all comments?

Salaam and Shalom,

Lance

Half-way to  Jerusalem

Vid Credit:

Käyttäjän leopahta kanava

Who’s Yer Daddy?

Video Credit: andrew91118

It is Just A Susanna Hoffs/Bangles/Emotional Wreckage-Wreck Kind-Of-Day “This Post Is A Chocolate Mess. All-Over-Some-Place.”

Tried To Edit It. But Guess What?

Word-Press Stepped In & Saved Me From My Sin.–

“TY WP For Havin’ My Back.”

One Day A Woman Will Be My Final Down-Fall–The Fall Of A Man! But What A Way To Go! In sha’Allah Y’all! Rented Karma! “Re-Run! Moron Alert! Be Careful! SueZ, Open Sez-a-me! Canal! (Found A Charming Vid By A Charming Young Woman–Survey Sez: “Chek It Out!”)

Free-Falling!

*****

This Is Brilliant!

She is Brilliant!

Y’all Just Know I Love it!

A Song About Suez Canal Evergreen Tanker:

Cred To Her! Sada El-Balad English See

Interview: Miss Arab Marina Al Obaidi –

لقاء حصري مع ملكة جمال العرب

2021 مارينا العبيدي

I Love Arab Women!

(Shit! I Love All Women)

In sha’Allah  Baby!

*******

I have been to the Suez Canal at least 300 times.

I’ve been witness to some incredibly stupid shit in my day, but never nothin’ even remotely approaching this

Monumental Shipping Screw-UP!

LMFAO!

*******

Because I am a Smart-assed Moron:

Clik the Link Below!

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

******

STILL LAUGHING!!!!

F&CK ME TO TEARS!!

Street Cred Vid: UnionSquareMusic

Yeah. I’m a fukking Moron!

Hahahaha!

Lawrence of Arabia (1962) Trailer

Uh? I Meant To Say,

“Lance Of Arabia”

###########

(For any who do not get my sense o’ humor… You boarded the wrong boat)

NO Refunds!

Sink or Swim!

*****

‘Awesomely Sexy’

Sassy and Sexy

Does not even begin to come close to properly describing these ladies.

Especially Susanna Hoffs!

(See below ‘Waltz Like an Egyptian’ vid)

Just Sayin’

People just don’t seem to have fun anymore—too uptight

Right?

Or perhaps old age has made me jaded.

***

Addendum:


When the ‘Gyptian’ vid came out I was floating around on the USS Callaghan, somewhere in the North IO…Indian Ocean…
HQ in San Dog had sent us a copy of the vid.
Guess what we did.

Yep.

We had the ship’s photographer film the crew…
Walking like Egyptians.

I wish I had a copy, but you can use your imagination.

Picture This Picture: 350 Bored Sailors, Out to Sea For Two Months, Never Seeing Land–

Well the Opportunity Was Rife For Sailor Stupidity

********

Footnote to this story:

In ’79 Egypt hired a Jap construction company to dredge the canal and to increase it’s girth by about  thirty-three percent.

This made life difficult for me.

From then on I had to take my passengers to Ismailia close to the Med coast to be able to cross over into Egypt proper.

‘Beautiful’ Ismailia

Added about an hour to my travel time.

Each way.

Fuck!

***********************

Did I actually write This Tripe Below???

Really?

Honestly??

Yes?

Just take Me Out Back and Shoot Me Then.

Once In The Leg
Twice In The Head

None in The Balls

I May Need Those in the After-Life

(If There Even Exists Such A Place)

Personally, I Doubt It.

You Only Get One Go At The Brass Ring.

Try Not To Screw It Up!

*****

This Is Yet Another Stupid Post That Imma Gonna Re-Post. Because I’m Stupid & Have Been Afflicted With Writer’s Blockage. “Gainful Un-Employment, Part Duh”

Make It Work

Uncle Bob:

 

Preface:

Lance (LIFE) is An Angry Man. An Angry White Man.

Now. That (above) is just for fun

What means this?

Nothing.

Just thought I’d say it.

Why?

“Dunno.”

Read On.

(Oh! And One Last THING: If you do not follow the links, well, do not come back to me crying: “Lance! I don’t get it!”–Please don’t force me to be an asshole–I really hate that.)

Oops! Working for Not-a-Livin’

I’ve been around the world (twice). Seen two white whales fuck. Seen the sun come up over many exotic venues. Been drunk at sunup looking at Kilimanjaro. Been sober at sunset watching Jews at the Wailing Wall, mostly wailing, them Jew (sic). Seen monkeys steal golf balls off the course at Subic Bay Naval Base. (A “gimme-drop” or a ‘mulligan’ in the local rule book)

Heard the call-to-prayer while on my early a.m. runs in many Arab lands. Seen incomprehensible acts of bravery and also of coward-ness. Seen inspiring acts of kindness. Seen unbelievable acts of selfishness and cruelty. Seen some things that oh so briefly, made me want to believe in (a) God (those passed—quickly—trust me on this one folks).

Seen men die.

And seen men live.

Have made countless great friends. Friended them. Been friended. Been De-Friended.  Cannot say I can even know where any one of them are today, or if they are even still alive. Such has been my way in life…

Suppose a selfish life (my take). Most who really know me would never say that. I have been called ‘Generous to a fault.’ I have also been called ‘conceited’ ‘arrogant’ ‘self-important’, ‘pompous’, ‘asshole’ et cetera, but one thing I have never been called is ‘cheap.’

I am proud of that.

In brief: “I have heard the chimes at midnight” with many good friends, however much I always seemed to cast them away, sorely by neglect. Friendship, I now know, requires tending, not unlike an aquarium or a garden. Next life… maybe.

I need not go on. Hell, most of us who attain some bit of longevity can attest to these experiences, or at least, reasonable facsimiles. Nothing unique about me here, but I have traveled a bit more than most and generally, I have taken some good mental notes.

Which kind of brings me to my point:

Jobs I Have Had: Weird Version (not in any particularly chronological order)

Walmart: I took a job at Walmart long after I had quit my regular job of almost ten years. My money had run out and I was living (by the good graces of my landlady—a friend–erstwhile lover) rent-free in Commerce, Amerika. Until she ran outta patience with me…

My intent was to attain gainful employment in Iraq, so I had quit my regular job, just SOOO certain, given my previous ‘Overseas War-Zone Experience’ that I would be beating the Head-Hunter’s offers away with a very large stick. Alas. No one seemed interested in hiring me to go to Iraq and risk my neck, (Even though I had made it abundantly clear in my cover letters that, ‘Beheading’ to me, is just a ‘scare word.’ No dice. No sale. No Job.

Strangest Aspect of working at Walmart:

Pajama Day. Yes Friends: on Pajama Day (Fridays as I do recall) a Walmart Associate could, if so desirous, wear pj’s work. Many did.

I did not.

UPS: I currently work (seasonal) for UPS. As far as I know, there are no pajama days, but there seem to be ‘incoherent days.’ I have been showing up for now two weeks and I am as clueless today as I was on day one.

If I were kind, I’d call it ‘organized chaos.’ Most of you who read me know I am not really one to spout euphemisms. No. Just ‘chaos’ will do for now. And gee! I really do hope all y’all get your parcels on-time. I truly do. Merry Christmas

SFM (Sinai Field Mission)

Completely run by the US Department of State back in the Seventies…

Wow! I have written of the insanity that went on there. Hell! There is even a documentary film on it (completely bogus, but here is the link, if you do not believe me:

http://www.zipporah.com/films/30

Hay Hauling:

Yep. A more insane occupation cannot be imagined (in The Seventies) Drunks mostly all of us hay-haulers. Peanut comes immediately to mind

 Navy SEALs: What can I say?

Worm Ranch: Worm Counter.

Yeah, I used to make a living… counting red-worms: Seventy-five cents a box. Good money. Dodge the alcoholic! (For that, I did not get paid extra—it was before OSHA doan cha know…?

Enuff!

More later.

Maybe

And don’t you know?

I am the reason God Made Oklahoma.

(Not really)

But…

I have a sense of the ludicrous.

THERE IS SOME RHYME AND REASON (YES ALL CAPS) THAT I LOVE KRIS:

HITS TOO CLOSE TO HOME)

DON’T IT?

(I cannot edit this piece of shit. GD Yu Worp-De-Pressed!)

Let The Buyer Beware

Daily Lenny

Yeah, I have pissed in a lot of sinks.

 Truly, I have.

Below: Me and Hala. Amman, Jordan Circa 2000 and something

gomer-1-and-gomette-2

“I know this goddamn life too well.”

-Janis