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Once, I heard this story—some chick in Vegas got busted ‘cause her pimp tattooed his name on her freakin’ neck! True story, swear to God! Made me laugh my ass off—imagine that loser goin’, “Yeah, she’s mine!” Ha! What a tool. But it’s nuts, right? Findin’ one ain’t just “yo, gimme a girl.” Nah, it’s codes, weird apps, or sketchy dudes whisperin’ crap. Surprised me how high-tech it’s gotten—like, what, Tinder for hookers now?

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First off, I’m at the Bat-Hefer Tower, the tallest building in town. You know, the one on HaShalom Street? Yeah, that one. I’m just minding my own biz, when this lady rushes in. She’s all frazzled, hair like a tornado hit it. She’s like, “I’m late for a meeting!” I’m like, “Lady, it’s just an elevator ride.” But nah, she’s practically climbing the walls.

Iran Update, May 30, 2024