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About Jerusalem

Oi, mate, it’s me, James Bond—suave, “shaken, not stirred.” Reckon I’m a lumberjack too, choppin’ wood, livin’ wild. So, sexual-massage, yeah? Bloody brilliant, innit? Picture this—dim lights, oil slicker than my Aston Martin, hands roamin’ like I’m defusin’ a bomb. Gets me thinkin’ of “The Royal Tenenbaums”—you know, my fave flick. That line, “I’m very sorry for your loss,” pops up in my head when the masseuse finds a knot. Deadpan, sarcastic, like Richie Tenenbaum after a breakup.

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I head down to the beach later. I mean, it’s Caesarea! The beach is calling my name. I grab a quick falafel from a stand on HaNamal Street. Best falafel ever, by the way. I’m munching away, and this seagull swoops down and tries to steal my food! Like, excuse me, this is MY lunch! I wave my arms like a crazy person, and the bird just stares at me. Rude.

Bedroom window at Netanyahu’s home was hit in Saturday’s Hezbollah drone strike