Things are hoping in the hood. Little Israel's Mean Queen is packing in new people through the front door while Daddy is pushing them out the back. They are all workers, either cleaning people or fixing-shit people. Mean Queen hires, promising small fortunes and Daddy tells them how much he's going to pay them and that ain't much so it's adios-fuckmego out the back.
The Greeter over in Little Iran is still without a wife. She showed up one day to collect some more of her shit but left pronto with family around her. The Greeter still has the Jihad Terrorist living with him. Just the Greeter now and the Jihad Terrorist making their bombs like some people knit scarves. There must be hundreds of fucking bombs in his garage by now. No wonder the bitch left. And now Little Iran sits in the dark, brooding with no burka bitches left. It's just Greeter and Jihad Terrorist doing the humpy-dance without a partner. So sad, to bad.
The Armenian hit man across the street waved at me the other day. It was a friendly, "how are you," kind of wave too. Made me nervous, and I did wave back but it was more for him not pulling a AK47 on me than anything else.
Mom is taking the oak roll-top desk. Mexican Monkey, if he is still sober, will help move the damn thing out of here. It's worth a lot of money, but nobody wants roll-top desks except of course, Mom.
It looks like Gabe is moving in sometime in April. Life will be different here in Gaza, the land between Little Iran and Little Israel. But I'll have someone to talk to and to help out with Wally. It will take a little getting use to but I think we'll do okay. Just as long as the fucking Iranians and Israelis don't start to lob their bombs on one another and of course, hit Little Gaza instead.
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