How To Buy A House In Israel

I’ll never be able to afford a house in this country. Ever. Maybe if M. and I saved our next 1,290 paychecks we’d have enough for the 40% down payment required on one of the dumpier places on the outskirts of Or Yehuda. But 1,290 paychecks are a lot. Like 25 years. In prison that’s a lifetime. And we need to eat. And drink occasionally. So I’I’ve compiled a list of the things I’d be willing to do in order to afford a house in this country. Think that old Klondike bar slogan: What would you do for a Klondike bar? Well, here are ten things I would do for enough money to buy a house:

1. I’d have sex with Sarah Netanyahu. Granted, it would be like Kermit the Frog finally getting suckered into a ménage-e-trois with Miss Piggy and Animal (while Gonzo was watching… that sick bastard) but I’d do it for the sake of some long term security for my family. And then that evil succubus would make me eat ice cream. Like gallons of it while she clubbed baby seals and used their blubbery skin to manufacture secret elixirs that moisturized her skin. And I would cry the whole time.

2. I’d throw myself under the bus. Literally. I’m riding my bicycle past Azrieli Center and it’s like that old Atari game “Frogger”. I got buses from every direction. Taxis. Cars. Other bicycles with strange and loud motors on them. So all I have to do is close my eyes and throw myself under the wheels and if by some miracle I survive I’ll get a hefty settlement and buttloads of oxycontin. Bonus!

3. I’d kill my mother in law. And inherit a third of her house. I got the idea the other night when M. woke me up in a cold sweat. “What happened?” I muttered half asleep. “I had a nightmare that someone abducted my mother”. She said frantically. And I turned back around and told her that no one would want to kidnap her mom. It would be like the ransom of red chief. They’d be paying us to take that battleaxe back.

4. I’d vote Shas. Twice. In Beit Shemesh. And give the newly elected mayor Abutbol a handy j in city hall. During a city council meeting. Because everyone knows if you’re that homophobic in public you must be a huge flaming gay in the privacy of your own home. So yeah I’d do that but nothing more. Unless we’re talking a penthouse. In which case I’m open for suggestions. But no sick shit.

5. I’d do a national campaign for Depends Adult Diapers. Like my man Doron Jamchi. For those of you not familiar with him he is one of Israel’s greatest all time basketball players. And boy he must have gotten some really shitty financial advice over the years if he has to be the national spokesperson for adult diapers. And he doesn’t look happy in those ads. Which are everywhere. In every bus stop. And he looks like he dropped a major shadoobie in his Depends.

6. I’d get married. Again. This time at a shitty reception hall in Rishon Lezion. I’d make sure to invite everyone I know. And their mothers. And make sure everyone brought me a check. And if that doesn’t cover the cost of a small two bedroom in Or Yehuda then I’ll bang out another kid just so I could have a Brit Mila at a shitty reception hall in Rishon Lezion. And invite everyone I know. And their mothers. Rinse and repeat celebrations until I’ve collected enough money.

7. I’d become a drug mule. I’d swallow a balloon full of heroin. Or stick it up my butt. I’d be willing to risk the Hamas tunnels and pull a Cheech and Chong (“We’re the Millers” for you kids out there) style border crossing into the Sinai to get me some good hash. Seems like the entire country has dried up since the unrest in Egypt. I could make a fortune if I weren’t such a pothead and smoked the entire stash before making it back.

8. I’d commit insurance fraud. By taking out a sizable life insurance policy and staging my own death (mauled by bear) shortly afterwards. And some contrite insurance adjuster would hand M. a nice check during the Shiva. M. would finally have enough to buy a house and the freedom to find a husband with no moobs and no mustache. Though why any woman would want that is beyond me. And me? I’d be reborn as a new person like in that classic Pirandello novel “Il fu Matia Pascal”. Read it.

9. I’d sell internal organs. I would start with semen. Because that’s fun. Then my hair. Then blood. Then I’d sign up for some clinical trials. Then maybe sell a part of my liver. Or an eyeball. Then a kidney. Because rumor has it that a good kidney from Israel can fetch up to $160,000. Which would put us nicely in that two bedroom in Or Yehuda.

10. I’d stop writing this blog. If any of you will pay me enough. You know who you are. So cough it up and I’ll never write again. I promise. I’ll go back to making obscure art house films involving coat room workers. Like this one. Or I’ll just take up whittling. Either way it’s a win win.

Obviously I wouldn’t do any of the above.Except for number four.

So call me Mayor Abutbol. You know you want to. Or message me on facebook.

Me love you long time.