Porcine Revenge

Oh, no, it’s swine flu! The piggies get their revenge on humans for years of bacon abuse.  Can it mutate and go pandemic?  That sagging pension fund isn’t looking so bad right now, huh?

Itzik the Plumber:  My own attempts at unblocking the kitchen sink are useless.  Nothing in the trap, and a whole bottle of ersaz Liquid Plumber does nothing.  Time to call in Itzik.  He calls when he said he would, trudges up the stairs, and spends several minutes patting Terri.  “Do you eat a lot of meat?” he asks me.  Uh, nooooo.  But the previous owners were Russians who ate nothing but meat fried in lots of grease.  The grease affects the pipes like a clogged artery.  After much energetic work, Itzik unblocks it and the water is whooshing down, easy as pie.  He stands and admires his own work.  “Look at that!” he chortles, pointing to the water swirling around the drain. 

Pack attack:  Nothing like starting to pack and discovering that the suitcase is in less-than-ideal condition.  The handle won’t go up, and I don’t feel like pulling it along, hunched over like Quasimodo.  I dash to the closest shops where my favorite cheap bag guy has a stall, and five minutes later am heading home with a new suitcase. 

Almost Yom haAtzama’ut:  Yom haZikaron is drawing to a close, and tonight the country will break out in a huge Independence Day celebration.  Fireworks, al-ha-eish, you name it. My dear country, you may be 61, but you don’t look a day over 50!

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