So let's have another round.

A friend from out of town came to spend the weekend. Local friends came because they're in town. Friday night dinner is Mexican food: homemade tortillas, guacamole, salsa, chicken and rice and beans, along with a full drink selection, beer from Palestine, Czech and Russia - the good life.

Dinner ends, all the food scarfed away. Though some drinks were left, the time had come to take our imbibing public. We decide upon a pub, centrally located in consideration of the end of the night. We'll all have to walk home, but roughly the same distance.

On the way there a stop is made for smokes - Winstons, like the Ghostbuster. At the kiosk we're told about the terror attack in Tel Aviv. People murdered, injured, lives cut short, promises broken and so forth. It's easy to wax philosophic when it comes to terror attacks. All of us know people in Tel Aviv and there was that pause of contemplation, do we go on our way while others who set out for the same met their untimely end? (no elderly folk were headed to said bombed disco)

Now, I didn't vote for him, and I don't consider him my President as much as I consider him a fetus the wire hanger missed but W makes a good point in that we can not let the terrorists win. And, god damn it, I will not!

At that very moment, the best thing we could have done was go out and get our drinks - to sit at the bar, order Arak and Guinness, nosh on pretzels and ogle scantily clad BGU students. This seemed like the most normal activity in which to participate. Perhaps I'd of thought differently had I not been so horny. But, honestly, how much can one man whack-off? Ladies I beg of you!

Set on denying the terrorists a victory I pushed forward, while my mates pushed the little numbered buttons on their respective communication transmitters. I took those first few baby steps in the direction of brewed refreshment. Here I will proclaim, the terrorists lost! As a Jew, Israeli and American I can confidently proclaim, "I fought the good fight and came away victorious, drunk, a bit wiser and a bit older."

We secured our seats on the couches, coveted pub real estate, ordered and proceeded to discuss the hottest bird in the joint. Beyond handing the bastardized lovers of Allah defeat we wanted to get laid.* On a trip to the bathroom I passed her twice, on the way there and again on the return. My friends informed me I was checked out each time and encouraged me, with the promise of a cash bet to "go for it," as they say in the parlance of our times.

She walked outside to talk on her cell. I followed her having a pretend conversation for the duration of her real one.** She soon reentered the pub leaving me alone, outside, to be consoled by my fake friend alone. Remembering I had real friends, and a drink, waiting for me inside I also returned, to learn that I would not receive the cash award put on the table. Shortly afterwards the same hot chick left the pub and I was quickly faced with intense peer pressure to go after her.

I did, was reprimanded for starting with her in English, switched to Hebrew, and was informed of the existence of her boyfriend (not present). I told her it was no worries, that I have a girlfriend (not existent) and then made fun of her minivan. We parted ways and I returned to the same friends and the same drink. The size of my genitalia was glorified while the size of my stiffened member was ignored.

It felt good. Life was lived, chances were taken, a sting was felt and laughs were shared all around. Fuck the terrorists, really. It's a shame the wire hanger missed you too.

*At this juncture I'll point out that there was a female in our crowd. A cute one in fact, which means the males gathered were rubber stamped by the fairer sex to be crude as such.

**As a point of male pride, and the only one in this entry, I faked it with her!