Jewish Sex Machine

I have been writing all night an Incredibly Boring, Extremely Complicated Bill of Quantities while the factory owner and three contractors are sitting in Netanya and waiting for it to appear on their fax machine. Yet I am here in an escapist fantasy trip. I wouldn't hire a fat, lazy, completely unreliable bullshitter like myself. They did, ergo they deserve to suffer. The intended title was the Fax Machine but Sex Machine has a better sound. I am in no mood to wish you a Merry Christmas. Have one anyway without my wishing so.

Follow Up: Yesterday we had the meeting with three contractors, the Persian Jew brothers (the owners), the project manager, the chief architect and the usual sidekick people. We started with one building - plumbing contractor clan from Uhm-El-Fahm, and I explained the design and answered the questions. Then two other contractor groups were admitted, but I was silenced and only the Project Manager spoke. He had understood the design and explained it better than I did. When I tried to inject a word (after all, I am the author of the design) he humiliated me pointing out grammatical mistakes (I had no time to correct my Hebrew) and technical faults (some signs were too small on the plot). The meeting ended everybody feeling wonderfully after a difficult task well done, except this blogger who was excluded from the fiesta and felt most dejected. One Persian analphabet advised me to return to elementary school to learn some Hebrew. (I have books published in Hebrew, yet yesterday I was left opening and closing my mouth like a fish on the dry). I should not write about these bitter experiences, I should present myself as always successful, just as everybody else does.

Beard comment: The Persian was suffering from alopecia, his beard showed hairless spots and his eyebrows have fallen. He said it was mental stress and it will grow back. The project estimate is 4 - 5 million US$ and they are shitless out of fear. Sorry, courageously proceeding onwards.