Well o’ course we had it tough. We used to get up in the morning at half-past-ten at night, half an hour before the air raid sirens sounded. We'd have to get up outta shoebox-sized bedroom, an’ clear an air-hole through t’rubble with our tongues. We spat out half a handful of freezing cold gravel from the drone strike, work our way through to the aid truck area for a handful of grain a year; an’ when we got home, IDF would slash us in two with tracer shells and dance about on us graves, singing Hava Nagila.
An' you try an tell the young people of today that, and the People’s Front of Palestine will issue a new fatwa for a jihadi pogrom of Quranic proportions!
Chateau de Chasseley, anyone...?
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