Two Arabs are sitting in a Gaza Strip
Two Arabs are sitting in a Gaza Strip bar chatting over a
pint of fermented goat’s milk.
One pulls his wallet out and starts flipping through
pictures and they start reminiscing.
“This is my oldest son, he’s a martyr.”
“This is my second son. He is a martyr also.”
After a pause and a deep sigh, the second Arab says
wistfully, “They blow up so fast, don’t they?”