The Shuttle Bus Intifada (Part 1)

The driver responded with a laugh
but then added . . .
“You don’t know the half of it.”
He then looked me in the eye
“Verily, I am a Knight Templar.
Our holy order recommissioned by
Pope Leo XV ~ The Grand Unifyer
for just this hour.”

My curt reply . . .
“So, you’re Catholic then?”

His strident response . . .
“You’re forgeting, my friend,
Christendom is being reunified
under the one glorious Universal
State Religion. By force if required,
so it can overcome the prophesied
oncoming Infidel assault.”

All I could think to say . . .
“Obviously you’re a fanatical
battle reenactment role-player.
But tell me
how the hell did you get
that bloody great broadsword
past the metal detector?
It looks heavy.
And are you really
my airport shuttle bus driver?”

Without a word spoken
despite the airport cacophony
I could hear clearly . . .
“The enemy’s power is broken.
The battle to come is already won.
In Christ’s mighty name proclaim
the final victory.”

Is this driver
playing tricks on me
with some hidden speaker?
Or could it be
that Jerusalem fever
I’ve heard about
is getting to me already!?!
And I’ve only Just landed!

By the banks
of the Dead Sea
where the waters
have turned to rust
I offered up my dry bones
for the bedouins
to make souvenirs
as due reparation
for the sins of my forefathers
and my own misdemeanours
Those Seven Sisters of Petroleum
and their ravenous exploitation
not to mention
the British East India Company
getting the Chinese peasantry
addicted to opium
Revenge is a cold serving
of methamphetamine
mainlined
into the collapsing vein
of Western civilisation
courtesy of Beijing

I finally asked the driver
where on Earth was he taking us?
Isn’t Tel Aviv and Jurasalem
relatively close?
He just pointed to the horizon
saying . . .
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
But first we’ll just do
a quick detour to Mount Megiddo.
Very scenic this time of year,
so the tourists can take some pics.
But keep your wits about you
and an eye out the window
for infidel marauders as we go.”

Apart from
the Slavic contingent
secreted on the back seats
my fellow passengers
aboard the shuttle bus
began quietly chanting
in unison . . .
“Can you take us
to Har Megiddo?
We are humble tourists.
We are not foreign agents.
Can you take us
to Har Megiddo?
We are humble tourists.
We are not foreign agents.”

The first words
I’d heard from them
not spoken in Mandarin

From the three Russians
up the back
a sudden outbreak
of hysterical laughter
whilst sharing a bottle
or two of Stoli vodka
One of them
then yelled out . . .
“The Bedouins are too busy
constructing football stadiums
and drinking Starbucks coffee
to bother with your rotten
Anglo-Saxon remains!”

Doing my very best
Robert De Niro impression
I calmly replied . . .
“Are you talking to me ?!
I’m a true blue Caledonian.
And which Siberian gulag
did you escape from, Ivan?”

Artwork;
courtesy of Michael Lewis © 2026