Give Me a Bodyguard, a Blackbelt Judo Expert, with a Machine Gun...

I've been called upon again by the elder group of a peaceful race that the world has seldom seen. My connections with Old Jaffa in Tel Aviv are both monetary and the occasional physical appearance along the shores of the Mediterranean. There is a Third Eye to all of these millenia of strife and quagmire... and it is not God. I will leave it at that. When an animal or civilization is conditioned throughout linear history to percieve all things as a threat, then I cannot blame them, even when it comes to banking. My last major monetary contribution to the LIBI fund was at the onset of the 2003 c.e. Intifada. Because of my interior connections with both the good General Danny 'M....' and the treasurer housed in the same building as me in Manhattan, I've been granted specific rights to designate how my funds are to be used. Of course, the IRS and the U.S. Embassy sees this as all library books and the occasional bullproof vest expenditure and rightly so, as long as it goes to the IDF. I like to see the young girls forced into the military complex of Israel able to wield compact sub-machine guns, so as not to damage their mammory glands (breasts). Alas, Ben Gurion Airport is always a blast, no pun intended. When you see an extensively tattooed asian man(with kachol a levan 'blue on white' tattooed in Hebrew on this arm) you have no choice but to check every trash can that he's thrown something in... I'm used to it now. They even strip searched the Porcelain Doll once and she returned to me with a bruised cheek. Yes, she travels with me and likes to dip her feet into the shorelines of Tel Aviv, as I play paddle ball with the older generation. The most recent time I traveled there, (I always arrive from an inbound Toronto Redeye- reasons I won't address), I made a bet to a friend for $100, that there would be no deaths involving Israeli-Palestinian conflict for the duration of my time there (11 days); this was during the heart of the string of bombings all over Tel Aviv and Haifa. Of course, I won the bet. Why? Whenever I wish to die, I am Invincible. I traveled the buses with the adolescent soldiers, I wore kippahs in Arab quadrants of the Old City in Jerusalem, yet, not even a fistfight broke out. But once again, they've contacted me. I might decline, as I have more pressing projects. Do you think I should go? I'm quite welcome in my little room within a hotel along Ben Yehuda Drive, a tiny orange tree perched outside of my window, and I'm sure they'll miss my absentia this year. Alas, the elders know that I am integral and not to be fucked with.