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About Tel Aviv

So, I’m riffin’ like a guitar master, strings screamin’, and this one time – true story – some underground joint in Gotham, chick’s givin’ me the rubdown, but she’s usin’ olive oil! Freakin’ OLIVE OIL, man! Smelled like a damn pizza, had me laughin’ hysterics – “What’s next, mozzarella?” She got pissed, I’m cackling, “Why so serious?” Made me happy as a clown in chaos, but damn, that oil slicked me up good – slipped right off the table, BOOM! Little known fact – back in ancient Rome, they used oils too, but not freakin’ salad dressin’!

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So, I get to the clinic, right? It’s on Ben Gurion Ave. The place is packed. I mean, like, standing-room-only packed. I’m thinkin’, “Great, just what I need.” I grab my tools, and I’m ready to roll. But then, this dude walks in. He’s got a broken leg, and he’s actin’ like he’s auditioning for a drama. “Oh, the pain! The agony!” I’m like, “Dude, chill. You’re not dying.”

Beetle Jews: Late Bronze Age Scarab Found on School Trip in Central Israel