You get the feeling that the party’s almost over — that it’ll be a miracle if we make it to 63, that the great experiment has failed and total annihilation is imminent, and it’s a feeling you’re used to, only this time it’s really happening, at least that’s the feeling you get. We’ve got nukes from Iran and scuds from Hezbollah aimed at our asses, so we’re out every night, smoking morsels of stale hash (because the Lebanese border is closed) or tiny specs of sandy, seed-heavy, ineffective homegrown weed (because there’s a serious water shortage). We eat like Americans, drink like Irishmen and fuck like whoever it is that fucks a lot and it’s all good because who knows if we’ll be here tomorrow? We’ve got neo-Nazis in the Hungarian government, neo-fascists in the House of Commons and even a cloud of volcanic ash preventing us from flying anywhere, so we shop ourselves silly at the gargantuan new Ikea/Gap/H&M/Top-Shop and avoid reading the papers, which increasingly feel censored. We’ve got a bunch of stupid, corrupt douchebags running things and all the bars are overrun by loud, obese kids from places like Bloomfield Hills and Westchester named Zach and Seth who thought a semester in Jerusalem sounded “sweet.” We’ve got a demographic nightmare with the Arabs and ultra-Orthodox making like, 13 babies per family, which is weird since we think we’re the ones doing all the fucking. Meanwhile, we’re all out “achieving” and “being creative” but not making any babies because all of the creative chicks with the cool asymmetrical hairdos are on the pill. So the secular and liberal minded are dying out and the only ones with any kind of moral vision are the fanatics in the settlements, and their vision is something along the lines of “killing baby Palestinians is fun!” So the party’s almost over, and we’re getting fatter, drunker, poorer, hornier and oblivious to the fact that it’s Sodom and Gomorrah all over again. Our gas masks are ready and the babies are in the bomb shelter. We can barely pay our mortgages while the fucking French (which is a nice way to say Moroccans) buy up all the beachfront property and work on their tans as we watch low-quality, low-concept cable re-makes of American re-makes of Dutch reality television and the radio’s not much comfort since all it plays is sad war ballads that the musicians generate over and over because they need those memorial day shekels to keep from starving. And that Obama guy, who at first seemed like a cool dude what with his ninja-fly-swatting skills and Beyonce and whatever, is basically saying he’ll pull the plug if we don’t get our act together, which actually makes a lot of sense, only anybody who knows us also knows that WE’RE NEVER GOING TO GET OUR ACT TOGETHER.
Happy 62nd Independence Day, Israel.