I got urgent call from Bibi last week begging me to come to Holy Land for emergency pleasure session. "I'm waiting to hear if Abbas agrees to my proposal and I'm going stir crazy" he cried to me. I knew he was under extra pressure from the pending direct talks and settlement freeze/unfreeze (I can never keep up), so I hopped on Aeroflot VIP jet with my special heat-resistant toys in my carry-on and headed to Ben Gurion airport to provide service.
On plane I called Abbasky to see if he wanted to schedule something for same week but got voice mail (Lady Gaga is horrible idea for background music).
I have to admit, after spending last few years in Van Nuys to build my business, I was eager to get back into political saddle of Middle East. I longed for old days when I would shuttle between West Bank and Jerusalem to meet clandestinely with leaders from each side, trying to find common ground through role play, aggression-releasing exercises and roundtable discussions on preferences in the bedroom. And common ground we did find. I'm proud to say these sessions proved to be extremely productive (See Oslo accords). After all, in bed men are all just naked insecure boys that want to be loved. And I mean loved, not copulated with. Those leaders never wanted actual sex. Leaders never do. They just want to cry on my shoulder and have me feed them cheap russian cookies.
But times have changed. For one thing, they don't make those cookies anymore. (I know from fact that Medvedev has fetish for Oreos and in certain depressive months even imports those cookies that the chubby girls in uniforms sell.)
But too many years in Amerika have turned me into rambler. The point is, I arrived into heat- stricken Tel Aviv yesterday and am sweating in inappropriate places. I did finally get through to Abbasky however, and told him I could head over in limo and be at his house by dinnertime, but he fed me bull crap line about checkpoint width issues. Must be his wife. She hates me. You say one thing about how hummous gives you gas and suddenly you are Satan. What can you do.
Bibi, on other hand, welcomed me with open arms, and aside from awkward moment when I asked for cup of Turkish coffee, we had wonderful session, alternating between road map coloring, back rubs and Wii Bowling. By the end of our session he was drawing little doves on the wall and belly dancing to Beyonce. (What a fantastic butt that woman has. Fantastic butt).
I hope Abbasky will have change of heart and agree to at least a tentative time frame for a possible interim session with me, because I know through the power of love, healing and heat resistant toys I can bring him closer to the neighboring lane. Fantastic.
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