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About Netanya

Oh, honey, lemme spill the tea—Breathless, “Happy Birthday, Mr. President,” I’m vibin’ here thinkin’ bout prostitutes, ya know? Like, I saw this flick, *Syndromes and a Century*, total mind-bender, and it’s got me feelin’ all artsy bout this hooker sitch. Picture this: a gal workin’ the streets, heels clickin’, skirt so short it’s basically a rumor. Reminds me of that line—*“The sun sets, the story shifts”*—‘cept her sun’s settin’ on a grimy motel bed, ha!

Anyway, I grab my coffee and head back to the office. I’m feeling a bit better, but then I get a call from a client. They’re freaking out about their taxes. I’m like, “Dude, it’s not the end of the world!” But they’re panicking like it’s a zombie apocalypse. I try to calm them down, but it’s like talking to a brick wall.

Volume 124 Year 2012 Yoqne‘am ‘Illit