For weeks my brother has been threatening to write a guest post. I was convinced I had nothing to fear since he lacks the login credentials to post and his attention span is worse than mine, but then out of nowhere, he emerged from the woods in army fatigues clutching some yellow legal paper claiming it was finished. I asked what it was about and he muttered "I am not saying what Hitler did was right, but I understand."
I know he won't be happy about the post not showing up but I figure I can always use the line, "My blog my rules."
20 comments:
This post was okay. I enjoyed the tone of the humor until you made light of the most evil man in history, Adolph Hitler. Some things really shouldn't be joked about Barry.
As a Holocaust - Dr. Mengele did experiments on my uterus - I second Randy's comment: there's nothing funny about hatred. That's why I spend my days at hospice - I have the 2 B's, brain and bowel cancer - trying to teach people about the power of love. Now I must go: I've Tivoed Shoah, and the nude scenes get me aroused.
This blog really disappoints me. I am a big hollywood agent and I was looking for the next big thing. I came here and watched a few posts as any good talent scout would. All I found was some Jews with bad grammar. Stick to your day jobs.
When you're driving and texting, as I am, grammar is the least of your concerns. My top priority is making sure Arnold is not in pain. Incidentally, the melanoma on his right nut looks like a Raisinet . . . but tastes like chicken.
p.s. Big Hollywood Agent: your day job consists of fetching papers.
Aunt Ruthie,
How do you know what my day job consists of?
Big Hollywood Agent,
Before the cancer ravaged my bowels - my colostomy bag looks like a test package for Dinty Moore® beef stew - I was an agent at William Morris, representing Barbra Streisand and Bobby Fischer, among other notables. Then the cancer spread to my brain, and delirium ensued: at night, I scream for my mother . . . or demand sex from my infirm (in every sense of the word) husband, who wears a diaper and keeps asking me what time The People's Court is in session. So, I know plenty about you, Big Hollywood Agent. You're nothing but a pisher, you goy.
Wtf is going on here? Who's who? I can't keep track
Who's the goy?
Randy,
It's hard to follow, I know. Instead, let me share an overview of my weekend: on Saturday morning, Aunt Ruthie cleaned my bed sores and "accidentally" groped my Hebrew National Salami. The touching got me so excited - bear in mind, I was shot by a sniper in the scrotum, this was in the Solomon Islands during World War II, and have very little sensitivity "down there" - that I soiled my diaper, and found myself screaming for help, "Rape! Rape! Don't touch me!" Where was I? Randy, Jews, goyim -- what's the difference, we're fellow humans and part of God's family. Which brings me to Sunday. As a recent convert to evagelical Christianity, I honor the Lord's day; and spent the morning praying for my wife - she has genital warts and toenail fungus - so our marriage can return to it's fabled conjungal bliss.
Pardon the typos. I never learned to type. Being old and Jewish sucks. Actually, being old isn't that bad.
I don't know what happened to this blog. It use to be such a nice place. It kind of reminds me of the Bronx after the blacks and ricans moved in.
I'm out of it for a little while, everyone gets delusions of grandeur!
Mr. Mayor,
In two words: oy vey. Have I had a morning! Last night, my wife was the victim of marital rape - I won't stop until I find the bastard who did this, and kill him with my own hands - and I've spent the morning talking to detectives and field operatives from NOW and the subscription office at Ms. We have a number of strong leads . . . and plenty of DNA evidence! Vials of it! But, and it pains me to write these words, I have even more troubling news: the animal who violated my wife . . . he got her pregnant! As a recent convert to evangelical Christianity, and as someone who believes the murder of the unborn is as grave a crime as the decision by Fox to cancel Arrested Development, we - I speak for my wife, as she is too traumatized to say anything beyond "More! Oh yes! Like that! Yes!!" - plan to keep the baby. Her advanced age makes a traditional vaginal delivery too dangerous, so the OB/GYN thinks we should birth the child anally. What a morning, indeed!
p.s. I own a brownstone in Crown Heights. Thanks, Mr. Mayor
Aunt Ruthie,
Give me back my library card. Regards to Arnold. Is he eating solid foods?
lmao!
First
Wait I guess I am too late for that.
This is what I get for having a comments section on my blog.
I found this site by Googling "Jew slumlord." Allow me to extemporize: I am a resident of Apartment 6-B, in a building off the Pelham Parkway, said building owned by Aunt Ruthie and Arnold Silverman. Well, the Hebrews have left me with no recourse. This is nothing less than mandibular outrage, as they have cut the lights and shut the hot water. My oldest, Jamal Roosevelt, has la cooka racha bites all over his Delano. I said: "J, I told you to stay away from that skanky old lady. Did she cut the rent. En-oh, motherfucker. And let me tell you why. Aunt Ruthie never gonna treat you like her nephew. Her slave maybe, but never her nephew." Wait. I hear someone knockin'. Attica!! Attica!! Get me the number for Ron Kuby!
Wow you would think my blog had 4000 readers based on all the comments. In retrospect I should have posted the post from my brother. You see this weekend was my dog's birthday and Lewis wanted to write a post about his love for him but it turned into a uni-bomber post. In any event I am now posting it. When you read it you will immediately think of him as Darth Vader. There is still good in him but if he takes off the mask he will die. I guess we have to live with the evil.
Without further adieu:
Your Parents Are Zina and Rooney . . .
Most people are garbage. Most people? More like every person I know, exclusions for my brother (who will be sharing a prison cell with me for having murdered our mother, which is a mercy killing in 42 states and American Samoa) and the woman who told me spousal abuse is a mitzvah. (In the hierarchy of human garbage, with the top rung reserved for citizens within the 561 area code, there is shit -- and then there is shit, the former being your run-of-the-mill, duplicitous animals who would trample you for the top bunk at Auschwitz, and the latter constituting the enablers who would punch your ticket on the train to eastern Poland, contemporary Judas' who would count their 30 pieces of silver on their way home.) Which is why we have dogs, instead, the only true friend a person has. And like everything else, there are dogs -- and then there is Monkey.
Monkey Fein is the one creature I love. Today is his birthday; and to commemorate the occasion, to celebrate his seven glorious years of life, I want to share a story about this fine (or Fein) little man.
Whenever Monkey stays with me, we begin the morning with him on my chest whereupon I recite his family story: "Your parents are Zina and Rooney. You weighed 6 pounds. You came from Michigan. You were a little baby." All the while, Monkey licks my face and ears, rejoicing in this personal narrative. Or he's excited because he needs to take a shit. Either way, he's full of love.
Happy birthday, Monkey. I love you very much.
Awesome
Lewis you have a gift
Cancer has spread to my fallopian tubes. May lose the baby.
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