The topic for today is: Camping.
Let me tell you kids, when I was hanging out in the desert, I never settled for very long in one place.
I always had to pack up what little worldly possessions I had (my sandals, my menorah, my tunic, perhaps a goat-skin bag full of water) and schlep them to the next desert town.
And so what confuses me is people who do this today and then refer to it as a vacation.
They leave the comfort of their homes (something I never knew—thanks, Dad!) and voluntary drag all their tchotkes to some remote area.
“Hmm, let’s see what would be a nice way to take a break from work and get away from it all. I know, let’s drag a bunch of stuff to some dirt, unpack it, sit around, then pack it all up again at night. And let’s do that for seven days! Woo-hoo!”
And then they are referred to as “happy campers.” Oy vey.
Now perhaps this is an effort for people to reconnect with nature. I get that; my Pops has made some fairly interesting things in that regard.
But may I suggest perhaps going for a nice walk? Because reproducing your living and kitchen in the dirt just seems a little meshuggah to me.
But what do I know? I didn’t have much choice.
Shalom.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
The First Couple
Today’s topic of discussion is: Adam and Eve.
I’m sure you all know their story, but I’m here to tell you Adam and Eve’s relationship was not all peaches and cream.
Sure, before Eve ate you-know-what, the First Couple got along famously. It really was paradise. My Dad did a great job landscaping that place. Whatever else you might think about the G-Man, he was one creative guy. He placed all forms of flora and fauna in the Garden, along with an amazing array of animals.
Incredibly, all these animals got along with each other, and just to put the cherry on top, Dad made sure that none of these animals defecated. That’s right, poop was another result of The Fall.
Anyway, back to the First Couple. Like most newlyweds, Adam and Eve had their honeymoon period, frolicking around in the Garden of Eden, pure and innocent. But after Eve gave in to temptation, things were never the same between them.
You know how couples have certain ongoing “issues” between them? Well, this one was a doozy. And Adam always held it against her. Every chance he got, Adam brought up the whole “rib” thing. For example:
Eve: Adam, bubeleh, you seem a little tired tonight. Art thou ill?
Adam: Oh, I’m fine, darling. It’s just that THIS LACK OF A RIB is really bothering my kishkehs tonight.
Or…
Eve: Adam, could you hand me a log so I can smash this serpent again?
Adam: I would love to, dear, but I HAVE ONE LESS RIB THAN YOU and it’s really hurting me today. But to give you life was definitely worth it.
They had other issues, too. For example:
Eve: Honey, I feel like a little nosh. You know what I could really go for tonight?
Adam: Oh, let me guess. Another feckuckteh apple?!
Yep, Adam could be quite a nudje. Some say it’s all part of being married, but I wouldn’t know about that.
Shalom.
I’m sure you all know their story, but I’m here to tell you Adam and Eve’s relationship was not all peaches and cream.
Sure, before Eve ate you-know-what, the First Couple got along famously. It really was paradise. My Dad did a great job landscaping that place. Whatever else you might think about the G-Man, he was one creative guy. He placed all forms of flora and fauna in the Garden, along with an amazing array of animals.
Incredibly, all these animals got along with each other, and just to put the cherry on top, Dad made sure that none of these animals defecated. That’s right, poop was another result of The Fall.
Anyway, back to the First Couple. Like most newlyweds, Adam and Eve had their honeymoon period, frolicking around in the Garden of Eden, pure and innocent. But after Eve gave in to temptation, things were never the same between them.
You know how couples have certain ongoing “issues” between them? Well, this one was a doozy. And Adam always held it against her. Every chance he got, Adam brought up the whole “rib” thing. For example:
Eve: Adam, bubeleh, you seem a little tired tonight. Art thou ill?
Adam: Oh, I’m fine, darling. It’s just that THIS LACK OF A RIB is really bothering my kishkehs tonight.
Or…
Eve: Adam, could you hand me a log so I can smash this serpent again?
Adam: I would love to, dear, but I HAVE ONE LESS RIB THAN YOU and it’s really hurting me today. But to give you life was definitely worth it.
They had other issues, too. For example:
Eve: Honey, I feel like a little nosh. You know what I could really go for tonight?
Adam: Oh, let me guess. Another feckuckteh apple?!
Yep, Adam could be quite a nudje. Some say it’s all part of being married, but I wouldn’t know about that.
Shalom.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
My Father’s Day Dilemma
The topic for today is: Father’s Day.
Some of you may have had older brothers or sisters who were just so outstanding in everything they did, that people always compared you to your siblings.
You know: “Why can’t you be more like your sister?” or “Your brother would never behave like that.”
Being compared to your perfect brother or sister is bad enough, but how would you like being compared to the G-Man himself? Well, welcome to my world.
Even when someone sneezes, people respond with “God Bless You.” I don’t even rate with mucus, it seems. And don’t get me started with “God Bless America” or “In God We Trust.” When do people mention my name? When something horrendous happens, or when someone is upset. That’s when I hear an incredulous “Jeee-uss.” To me, that’s just gornisht.
He gets all the kudos and the cool slogans, and what do I get? I get to die on a cross as a sacrifice for all mankind. Hello?
Growing up with the G-Man as your Dad is no picnic, either. First of all, everyone thinks He’s always right. And if He seems to not make sense, it’s explained away that he works in mysterious ways. Try arguing with that.
He can also be a pretty vengeful and enigmatic guy, and his practical jokes can really get out of hand. You should have heard him laughing hysterically when Moses was talking to that burning bush, or when he allowed Octo-mom to have eight kids.
Finally, what exactly do you suggest I get someone like my Dad for Father’s Day? A nice kugel? A new yarmelkeh?
I’m actually leaning toward getting Him the new Ultimate 40th Anniversary Edition DVD of “Woodstock.” Dad thought that was pretty funny too.
Shalom.
Some of you may have had older brothers or sisters who were just so outstanding in everything they did, that people always compared you to your siblings.
You know: “Why can’t you be more like your sister?” or “Your brother would never behave like that.”
Being compared to your perfect brother or sister is bad enough, but how would you like being compared to the G-Man himself? Well, welcome to my world.
Even when someone sneezes, people respond with “God Bless You.” I don’t even rate with mucus, it seems. And don’t get me started with “God Bless America” or “In God We Trust.” When do people mention my name? When something horrendous happens, or when someone is upset. That’s when I hear an incredulous “Jeee-uss.” To me, that’s just gornisht.
He gets all the kudos and the cool slogans, and what do I get? I get to die on a cross as a sacrifice for all mankind. Hello?
Growing up with the G-Man as your Dad is no picnic, either. First of all, everyone thinks He’s always right. And if He seems to not make sense, it’s explained away that he works in mysterious ways. Try arguing with that.
He can also be a pretty vengeful and enigmatic guy, and his practical jokes can really get out of hand. You should have heard him laughing hysterically when Moses was talking to that burning bush, or when he allowed Octo-mom to have eight kids.
Finally, what exactly do you suggest I get someone like my Dad for Father’s Day? A nice kugel? A new yarmelkeh?
I’m actually leaning toward getting Him the new Ultimate 40th Anniversary Edition DVD of “Woodstock.” Dad thought that was pretty funny too.
Shalom.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Just Your Imagination
The topic of discussion today is: My Image.
That’s right, my friends, it happened again. This time one of my so-called followers found my image on top of a jar of jelly.
Now in the past, people claimed to have seen images of me on the side of a barn, on a potato chip, even on a tortilla.
I’ll admit it’s a little flattering that these folks think they see my face in such places. But I’m here to tell you that this is really just their imagination.
First of all, I’m not a big jelly fan, and as for tortillas, I can take them or leave them.
Think about it. If I were going to appear to you, why would I choose the side of a barn? Just because my parents dumped me in a feckuckteh manger? Try hanging around a manger for a while and let me know if it becomes a fond memory. Feh!
What these meshugenehs are seeing are just random patterns and smears, not my face.
And if you really want to get into it, I didn’t see a whole lot of Kodaks when I was hanging in the desert. Nor was anyone painting my portrait back in the day. So, how did anyone know what I look like? For all we know, they could have been painting the visage of Moishe the Wanderer all these years. (Though Moishe was quite a bit shorter than I.)
Now you may be looking at my picture on this blog and thinking, “Wait a minute, that sure looks like Jesus to me.” But with the Internet, you never know. I even know one blogger who wants everyone to think he looks like Brad Pitt. Believe me, he’s more like the anti-Brad Pitt.
Shalom.
That’s right, my friends, it happened again. This time one of my so-called followers found my image on top of a jar of jelly.
Now in the past, people claimed to have seen images of me on the side of a barn, on a potato chip, even on a tortilla.
I’ll admit it’s a little flattering that these folks think they see my face in such places. But I’m here to tell you that this is really just their imagination.
First of all, I’m not a big jelly fan, and as for tortillas, I can take them or leave them.
Think about it. If I were going to appear to you, why would I choose the side of a barn? Just because my parents dumped me in a feckuckteh manger? Try hanging around a manger for a while and let me know if it becomes a fond memory. Feh!
What these meshugenehs are seeing are just random patterns and smears, not my face.
And if you really want to get into it, I didn’t see a whole lot of Kodaks when I was hanging in the desert. Nor was anyone painting my portrait back in the day. So, how did anyone know what I look like? For all we know, they could have been painting the visage of Moishe the Wanderer all these years. (Though Moishe was quite a bit shorter than I.)
Now you may be looking at my picture on this blog and thinking, “Wait a minute, that sure looks like Jesus to me.” But with the Internet, you never know. I even know one blogger who wants everyone to think he looks like Brad Pitt. Believe me, he’s more like the anti-Brad Pitt.
Shalom.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Worship This!
Today’s topic is: Worship.
Now I know this is a monumental topic, especially when it involves yours truly.
As you may suspect, there are vast multitudes of people who worship me, and to be honest, I find it a little unsettling.
They thank me for things that they have actually accomplished all on their own.
They ask me for certain favors or perhaps forgiveness, without realizing that I am often otherwise occupied at the time.
Some of my more, shall we say “confused” followers, even have the chutzpah to think they are me—which is weird because believe me when I say being the son of the G-Man ain’t no picnic. I mean, I have an unGodly amount of responsibility. Trust me, you need that like a loch in kop.
Like many of you, I’m not very good at receiving compliments. Hey look, when you have a Dad like mine, a lot is expected of you and he’s not too liberal with the old praise-a-roo.
So, I’m not real big on this worship thing.
If I had to give some of my more overzealous followers a piece of advice, I’d say to begin by believing in yourself and your loved ones, and than take it from there.
Or if that seems too daunting at first, begin by worshipping this guy:
Because I sure do.
Shalom.
Now I know this is a monumental topic, especially when it involves yours truly.
As you may suspect, there are vast multitudes of people who worship me, and to be honest, I find it a little unsettling.
They thank me for things that they have actually accomplished all on their own.
They ask me for certain favors or perhaps forgiveness, without realizing that I am often otherwise occupied at the time.
Some of my more, shall we say “confused” followers, even have the chutzpah to think they are me—which is weird because believe me when I say being the son of the G-Man ain’t no picnic. I mean, I have an unGodly amount of responsibility. Trust me, you need that like a loch in kop.
Like many of you, I’m not very good at receiving compliments. Hey look, when you have a Dad like mine, a lot is expected of you and he’s not too liberal with the old praise-a-roo.
So, I’m not real big on this worship thing.
If I had to give some of my more overzealous followers a piece of advice, I’d say to begin by believing in yourself and your loved ones, and than take it from there.
Or if that seems too daunting at first, begin by worshipping this guy:
Because I sure do.
Shalom.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
A Torturous Survey
Today’s topic of discussion is: Torture.
As I was eating my ginormous plate of matzoh brie during breakfast this morning, I came across a disturbing story in the Heavenly Times.
It seems that a new poll from the Pew Research Center found that 62 percent of white evangelical Protestants surveyed believe that torture is often or sometimes justified.
Well, my children, that news was enough to make me chalosh.
In case you haven’t heard, back in the day, I was involved in this little thing called a crucifixion, in which a gaggle of surly Romans (that’s right, they were Romans, and I should know) pinned me up, and believe me, this wasn’t no pin the tail on the donkey.
In other words, I was TORTURED.
So, you can probably guess what my position is on torture. Not a big fan.
You may also remember that I used to tell my followers that they should love their enemies. Even Dick Cheney.
George Washington got the message. He made sure that his soldiers did not mistreat their prisoners, so that they did not appear as incredibly brutal as the British.
Hey, why do you think my Dad gave the British bad teeth and gigantic feckuckteh ears? Think about that the next time you want to torture someone.
In the meantime, keep on truckin’.
Shalom.
As I was eating my ginormous plate of matzoh brie during breakfast this morning, I came across a disturbing story in the Heavenly Times.
It seems that a new poll from the Pew Research Center found that 62 percent of white evangelical Protestants surveyed believe that torture is often or sometimes justified.
Well, my children, that news was enough to make me chalosh.
In case you haven’t heard, back in the day, I was involved in this little thing called a crucifixion, in which a gaggle of surly Romans (that’s right, they were Romans, and I should know) pinned me up, and believe me, this wasn’t no pin the tail on the donkey.
In other words, I was TORTURED.
So, you can probably guess what my position is on torture. Not a big fan.
You may also remember that I used to tell my followers that they should love their enemies. Even Dick Cheney.
George Washington got the message. He made sure that his soldiers did not mistreat their prisoners, so that they did not appear as incredibly brutal as the British.
Hey, why do you think my Dad gave the British bad teeth and gigantic feckuckteh ears? Think about that the next time you want to torture someone.
In the meantime, keep on truckin’.
Shalom.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Honor Thy Bagel
The topic for today is: Bagels.
When you think about it, everything tastes better on a bagel.
Whether it’s a schmear with a nice piece of lox, a pile of corned beef, or even—God forbid (and He does, for some weird reason, but more about that another time)—ham.
Of course, when I was growing up, we had very few varieties of bagels. Basically, if you didn’t like a plain bagel, you were out of luck, boychik.
But nowadays, there is a veritable panoply of these round delights. And though most of you know I am a pretty laid back dude, I will admit that I do not approve of all these bagel bastardizations.
Put it this way:
Blueberry, banana nut, sundried tomato—strictly for the goyim.
Plain, onion, salt, egg—knock yourself out, tataleh.
I will reveal unto you, however, that I have a weakness for toasted chocolate chip bagels with peanut butter.
Hey, I never said I was perfect.
Shalom.
When you think about it, everything tastes better on a bagel.
Whether it’s a schmear with a nice piece of lox, a pile of corned beef, or even—God forbid (and He does, for some weird reason, but more about that another time)—ham.
Of course, when I was growing up, we had very few varieties of bagels. Basically, if you didn’t like a plain bagel, you were out of luck, boychik.
But nowadays, there is a veritable panoply of these round delights. And though most of you know I am a pretty laid back dude, I will admit that I do not approve of all these bagel bastardizations.
Put it this way:
Blueberry, banana nut, sundried tomato—strictly for the goyim.
Plain, onion, salt, egg—knock yourself out, tataleh.
I will reveal unto you, however, that I have a weakness for toasted chocolate chip bagels with peanut butter.
Hey, I never said I was perfect.
Shalom.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Whining About Wine
Today's topic of discussion is: Wine.
This is by far the most overrated beverage in the universe, and it pisses me off to think that some people drink this stuff pretending that it represents my blood.
First of all, that’s pretty morbid, don’t you think? If you’re a cannibal, then hey, let your freak flag fly, but otherwise forget about it. (And why Dad made cannibals is another topic for another day.)
Now when I was growing up, the wine we all drank was called Manischewitz. Trust me, I’d rather eat a gallon of borsht on a hot afternoon than this drek.
And speaking of hot, remember when I was in the desert and I made the water into wine? Everyone was sooo impressed. Now I don’t know about you, but when it’s 120 degrees outside, I’m not exactly jonesing for a nice Chardonnay. Hey disciples, how about some—oh I don’t know—water? Or at least an icy Dr. Pepper.
Another reason I’m not a big wine fan: Remember this little thing called “The Last Supper”? Well, every time I see or hear about wine, it reminds me of that cheery event.
Finally, wine is made by people stomping their feet on grapes. Sounds delicious, doesn’t it? Who knows where those feet have been? I still remember lepers like it was yesterday, and as far as I know, Ernest & Julio Gallo don’t have a no-leper policy.
So, in my opinion, when it comes to wine, just say “Feh!”
Shalom.
This is by far the most overrated beverage in the universe, and it pisses me off to think that some people drink this stuff pretending that it represents my blood.
First of all, that’s pretty morbid, don’t you think? If you’re a cannibal, then hey, let your freak flag fly, but otherwise forget about it. (And why Dad made cannibals is another topic for another day.)
Now when I was growing up, the wine we all drank was called Manischewitz. Trust me, I’d rather eat a gallon of borsht on a hot afternoon than this drek.
And speaking of hot, remember when I was in the desert and I made the water into wine? Everyone was sooo impressed. Now I don’t know about you, but when it’s 120 degrees outside, I’m not exactly jonesing for a nice Chardonnay. Hey disciples, how about some—oh I don’t know—water? Or at least an icy Dr. Pepper.
Another reason I’m not a big wine fan: Remember this little thing called “The Last Supper”? Well, every time I see or hear about wine, it reminds me of that cheery event.
Finally, wine is made by people stomping their feet on grapes. Sounds delicious, doesn’t it? Who knows where those feet have been? I still remember lepers like it was yesterday, and as far as I know, Ernest & Julio Gallo don’t have a no-leper policy.
So, in my opinion, when it comes to wine, just say “Feh!”
Shalom.
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