1/6/01

Who Are They Kidding?

The Mossad has nothing better to do than spread nefarious anti-Arafat jokes? Get serious!

    Yasser Arafat was in bed with his wife (I know this sounds like the latest Arafat joke, but it's not) and he says to her, "Buttercup, I want you to be the first to know: I'm planning to end it all."
    Suha gasped. "Kill yourself?! But why?" Immediately she realized why: it was to get at those 10,000 virgins in heaven he'd been promising everyone else. She slapped him in the face. "I'll kill you first!" she said in a rage, knowing that was how to keep him faithful Up There.
    Arafat had no problem understanding those Israelis, but women, he would never understand. "What got into you? I'm planning to end this vicious new conspiracy against me, this Zionist plot, this sinister Mossad treachery."
    Suha now smiled sweetly. "You mean the Arafat jokes? I read about it in the papers. Honey, it means people are talking about you. You're famous!"
    What he had to put up with. He rolled his eyes. "But you have no idea what they're saying about me. It's terrible."
    "Oh, it's not so bad," his loving wife reassured him. "Did you hear the latest? Yasser Arafat and the pope are in a synagogue, and --"
    He grumbled to himself, rolled over (tucking his revolver into his olive-drab pyjamas), and went to sleep.
    The following morning (he had dreamed all night of Limor Livnat, and decided not to tell anyone, especially Suha), he marched out of the house like a man with a mission. He made a quick call, ordering his entire intelligence staff to get to  his office on the double.
    They were already there when Arafat arrived. He walked in, and found them howling with laughter. He could guess why.
    "... And Arafat puts his hand on Livnat's knee and says --" Abu Blahblah was at the punchline, and couldn't stop now. But Arafat knew the punchline (amazingly, he'd heard it in his dream), and anyway, he had to make a point, so he shot Abu Blahblah dead.
    Instantly, his intelligence staff stopped laughing, and not just because the joke had been interrupted.
     It had long been suspected that Arafat lacked a sense of humor. Which was a pity, because there were some really funny jokes making the rounds, and everyone was busting a gut but him. Like the one about the plastic surgeon who's redoing Arafat's face and the doctor says, "You want a fat lip?," and Arafat shoots him dead, ha ha ha! Or the one about Arafat in bed with his wife (I know this sounds like a newspaper column, but it's not), and his trusted deputy Ahmed Tibi -- who happens to be a gynecologist -- steps out of the closet, and he says to Suha, "Now remember, Mrs. Arafat, if he uses excessive force, call the UN," and Arafat shoots him dead.
    Anyway, it was now becoming clear -- especially among those in his inner circle who had had their last laughs -- that he did not have a sense of humor.
    It is like this among the Palestinians: if you cook an egg for five minutes and it's still runny, it's because of a Mossad plot and a Zionist conspiracy. So naturally, when he got wind of a series of Yasser knock-knock jokes sweeping through Gaza City, he knew who to blame. 
     "Stop everything you're doing," he commanded the elite of his intelligence staff, "and get to the bottom of this. I want every last joke shot. Especially," he bellowed furiously, "the one about the car."
    "Which car joke?" asked Abu Guffa'a. "There's a dozen, at least. D'you mean the one where Arafat is sent to Tel Aviv to blow up a car, and he burns his lips on the tailpipe?" POW! POW! "Unnhh."
    "Jibril!" he barked at his security chief, Jibril Rajubilant. "I want to know what's been done so far to stop this dirty tactic."
    "Plenty," he said, careful not to giggle. "We called the UN -- got through on the first try -- and they promised to pass a resolution condemning Israel. We called every country in Europe, and they're preparing a war crimes indictment. The Arab League says it takes these jokes seriously and it will send the people of Palestine a billion dollars in support and furthermore take swift and efficient action to throw the Jews into the sea once and for all, and that this time it wasn't just empty talk (at this, everyone in the room laughed, including Arafat). We've instructed the Palestinian media to report that 20 Palestinian children have died of excessive and disproportionate laughter from Arafat jokes originating in the Knesset. And we've instructed the foreign media to report the same thing; the BBC said they are not amused, and promised day-long coverage. That's all I could manage so far."
    It wasn't enough. "What about suicide bombers?"
    "Oh, you heard that one," Mohammed Hahlan blurted. The others groaned in despair.
    "No, but you will tell it to me," Arafat said tersely, "if it's the last thing you do."
    "It is not even so funny," Hahlan said with a straight face, while his beloved leader reloaded his sidearm, "something about Arafat wanting to be a suicide bomber and he tries to get on a bus but it's full and as the doors are closing he calls to the driver, 'But I have to get on, it's a matter of life and death!' "
    POW!
    "Unnhh."
    Unlike intelligence personnel, which were easy to come by among the Palestinians, bullets were becoming scarce, because those damn Israelis were no longer supplying them. Arafat informed his men that heretofore, bullets would be limited, one per person.
    "As I was saying: I want a hundred fuzzy-cheeked schoolboys lined up, prepared to die to protect my honor. They'll wipe the smirk off those Israeli faces."
    Nobody was prepared to tell him that it was, in fact, the fuzzy-cheeked Palestinian schoolboys who were telling anti-Arafat jokes.
    The meeting was suddenly interrupted when Arafat's secretary burst in. "Your wife just called," she said breathlessly, "said it's very important, said she just heard President Mubarak on the radio telling the one about Arafat at the summit meeting with Sharon, and Sharon's cellphone rings, but all he can hear is tic-toc, tic-toc, so he gives the phone to Arafat and says 'It's for you,' and also you should buy pita, potatoes and a No. 2 chicken on your way home from work."
    Yukoub Yukoub cracked up. He was on the floor, which saved him from falling down when Arafat shot him a glance powerful enough to prove that looks could kill.
    By now, there were plenty of empty chairs in the chairman's office, but very little floor space. He summoned his secretary back. "Get the cleaning lady to clean up this mess. Oh, but first, call CNN, tell them to come at once, tell them the Israelis have bombed my office."
     "Your excellency, if I may," Abu Ffoon stammered, "I wish to offer the sublimely sober opinion that, would that it were not, the profligation of drollery will, uh --"
    "Well?! What are you trying to say?!"
    "The, uh, the jokes will be difficult to stop. You may just have to get used to them, Excellency."
    "Are you kidding me?!"
    "NO! I mean -- but I have an idea, if I may." Abu Ffoon whispered something into his cherished leader's cherished ear, then sat down.
    Arafat almost smiled. "Gentlemen, I have just had an idea. We must learn from the Zionists themselves how to combat this tomfoolery. We shall call in the top expert in the field."
    It took but a moment to sink in. Everyone gasped.
    "You don't mean --"
    "Exactly." Arafat buzzed his secretary, who was in the middle of hearing the latest one from the mailroom boy. "One moment please," she told her boss while the kid drew out the punchline. Still shrieking with laughter, she asked what he wanted.
    "Drop everything else, and put a call through at once," he barked at her.
    She blanched. "To the mailroom boy?"
    "What does he know about jokes? No! Get me David Levy."