To the left are Jews from Israel in their palace. To the right are Iranian Muslims in their tent. And we are between in the Gaza Strip. Not wanted by either but tolerated--to an extent. We offer eggs to the Jews for peace and get sour oranges. We offer produce to the Muslims for peace and get nothing but a thanks, not even invited in. And that pretty well describes Gaza here or in the Middle East.
We is the fags of the hood. Stinking Palestinians that no one wants. And Fuck them I say. What we do is party. Party Party Party on the weekend. It don't matter what the weather, we party hearty. Drink, barbecue and play country on the Boze. There is banter and laughter and cards. Penny a point and plenty of beer. When the weather permits we do it outside, out in the patio in the middle of our fairyland garden. With flowers and vegetables, grapes and bubbling fountain.
They have each other. Justice prevails.
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