Palestine: You occupy my land. You continue to expand. I’m wiping you out.
Israel: It’s you’re land, is it? I have some reading to recommended.
P: From a book? Slow down. I have a book. That’s confusing. Your book is bullshit.
I: Dude, my book was written before yours. You’re laughable, bro.
P: Fuck you, my book is better. I’m wiping you from my land you filthy squatter.
I: That’s rich. No wait. I’m rich. How exactly do you plan on wiping? Fire you’re junk at my dome? You know this is a suicide mission, don’t you?
P: I don’t care. I’m going to heaven. Virgins, dog. Virgins. You, on the other hand, are worthless! Fuck you and your dome and your home!
I: You haven’t exactly made this difficult for me. You know what’s going to happen, here. Oh wait that would require foresight and logic.
P: You and Uncle Sam can shove your foresight up your asses, you subhuman rats. I’m bringin’ the pain!
I: Did I say this was a suicide mission? I meant that your families are going to die, too.
Israel puffs cigar; presses button.
I: I can’t lie. This feels good.
Israel makes phone call.
I: Sammy! Yeah, we’re doing fine. Yes. That’s right. You know the coffers always have room for cream.
Palestine emerges from rubble, bloodied and scarred.