Q.: Say, how many Palestinians does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A.: One to screw in the light bulb;
three hundred or so to moon and preen before the BBC and CNN cameras at the entrance of the local emergency room;
a couple dozen to move each martyr out of the ambulance and onto glory.
Why don't these fucking bastards go home or go to school or something? If milling about in the streets and carrying on with the pained obviousness of a heartbroken son in a turn-of-the-century Italian melodrama were a business, the Palestinians would be firing gold-plated machine guns by now.