Tag Archives: Jewish

You Know You Want It

10 Jun

You ever have an experience that’s so good, it makes you stop whatever you’re doing and go, “Wow, oh my God.”  Like the rest of your life, whatever else you’re doing or involved in or on the way to do, just pales in comparison, just dissipates, more and more, as your focus is shifted onto the sublime experience you’ve become enraptured by. And it’s like your entire life before this experience seems gray and dull when you realize you’ve lived it without this explosion of impossibly vibrant, impossibly beautiful, impossibly rich, heady, pleasure. 

Oy….cheese babka, people. You know what I’m talking about. If chas veshalom you don’t, go get some. Right now. Stop reading. Get off your chair and get some whichever way you can. Steal money from a loved one. Punch out an old person on the street and take $5.95 from their purse/fanny pack. And eat as much as you want. Break your diet. You have the rest of your life to worry about your diabetes. Cheese babka is now.


The Money and the Power

20 Mar

Made you sing.

If you went to Yeshiva in the 90’s, you know the song. Probably, by way of this song. Either way, rap, or heavy metal, resonates with a lot of kids. Then those kids are thrown are thrown out of Yeshiva. Me, I was more into rebelling through humor.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but making jokes was my way of passive-aggressive resistance to the system. My father always told jokes and people liked that. And since I grew up trying to copy him, it seemed such a deviously natural way of rejecting without having to take flak over it. It would have been better if I would have faced it and gotten kicked around till I found a place where I fit in, but I’ve never had too many balls (or is it too much balls?).

I’m sure this is why Jews are funny in the first place. Jews were abused in whichever country they were in. They couldn’t rebel outright, so they harmlessly mocked it. And, like most other oppressed people, they passed on the abuse to their kids. That’s why there used to be so many Jewish comedians in America. They were first, or second, generation abused emigrants. As they went down a few generations and became more comfortable in American society, and inter-married into normal American society, the need for repression decreased. As I said a long time ago, I think you can make the same argument about religion, but I’m not going to go into that here. If you want to read it, you can see it here. (Keep in mind, I wrote it for a frum intellectual-style magazine, so it may be a little bit different than you’re used to reading on this site.)

Hmm, looks like I drifted from the title. Well…that’s really what I’m talking about here anyhow, so I’ll keep it.

Sem Girls Says

25 Feb

Have you seen this?

‘What do they call watermelon in Mississippi?’ or, scenes from a nursing home.

21 Feb

Unless the girl is a part of an old-age-home prostitution service, this is fake. It's probably part of a "how many things can you find wrong with this picture" old people activity kit. (I count 9.)

The company I work for has some nursing homes they are contracted with. For the most part, these places are soul-squashingly sad antechambers of death, so when you find people who still have some positive energy left, it kind of blows you away. It’s probably why they hire so many people from the Islands (Jamaica, Barbados, etc.) to work there. Most Americans would be walking husks within 6 months, but these people come in with so much positivity and happiness, they can go 5-6 years before their life-force is drained away.

One day, I’m working there late, like 7-8 o’clock, and this Islands nurse comes down to ask the Island front desk guy to help her with something. The guy is busy fixing the security camera monitors and doesn’t stop at all, just says in a rushed voice, “I cannot help you now. I am very busy. Time is money. We are in America now.” Then he breaks into a big smile and stops doing everything. “Just keeding Mama, show me what you got dere.” It was one of the coolest, sweetest things I’ve ever seen. (Yes, I said sweet. Sorry, but I don’t know any other more masculine word for it.)

Then there was this old black guy with some kind of disease sitting up in bed schmoozing with the floor supervisor who brought him the bbq wings he had ordered from a Chinese takeout place. I go in to fix something in the room, and the supervisor is saying something like, “The whole place smells like bbq chicken now. Everyone’s gonna want some from you.” The guy says, “I know. Then I give them some and now we friends. Maybe some ladies want some chicken too, know what I mean?” He’s smiling ear to ear, so I say, “A wing for a woman? Not a bad deal, if you ask me.” He laughs and goes on a bit. Then he says, “You Jewish, right?” I say, “Yeah, the yarmulka give it away?” He laughs. “What’s your name?” I tell him my name, which, being Hebrew, he can’t pronounce worth crap. He tries a few variations, then sees it’s getting awkward and gives up. I try to de-awkward the conversation: “It wasn’t my choice. You don’t get to choose what they call you.” He laughs, “Yeah, where I’m from, they used to call me nigger. I didn’t choose that one neither.”

Another time, this old Korean lady, who I’d never seen say a word to anyone, is singing a solo to some Korean karaoke song playing off the speaker system in front of a whole group of patients and staff. Just seeing her actually still alive, enjoying something, actually doing it well, was surreal.

Here’s a few one-liners from another old black man who spends his time wheeling himself around the nursing home and telling jokes to everyone. To the office of black Island nursing administrators: What do they call watermelon in Mississippi? Nigger steak. (“What was dat, Nene?” ‘He say wahtamelon eez called niggah steak.’ “Niggah steak? Ah don’t get eet.” ‘Haha. He’s a funny mon.’) To another patient lying in bed: What do you call an HIV infected patient in a wheelchair? Rollaids.

I guess the nursing home isn’t too bad a place to visit, as long as you focus on the positive. And if you have the door code to leave when the night-time cries of the damned become too much to take.

[And, please ,before you get your knickers in a twist for me saying “nigger”: I don’t normally use the word. This stuff actually happened.]

Stupid Funny Breslov Clip

28 Dec

This is probably best watched at like 2 A.M.

Totally unrelated, except for also being hilarious at 2 AM, substituting “fart” for the main word in songs can keep you entertained till the sun comes up. It’s easy to do too. Here I’ll give you a training song. The Power of Love, by Huey Lewis etc. Just sing the song normally in your head and change “Love” to the most hilarious word in the dictionary. In a good descriptive song like this, it just gets better and better. I’m so glad I’m anonymous.


The power of love is a curious thing
Make a one man weep, make another man sing
Change a hawk to a little white dove
More than a feeling that’s the power of love

Tougher than diamonds, rich like cream
Stronger and harder than a bad girl’s dream
Make a bad one good make a wrong one right
Power of love that keeps you home at night

Chorus 1 :
You don’t need money, don’t take fame
Don’t need no credit card to ride this train
It’s strong and it’s sudden and it’s cruel sometimes
But it might just save your life
That’s the power of love
That’s the power of love

First time you feel it, it might make you sad
Next time you feel it it might make you mad
But you’ll be glad baby when you’ve found
That’s the power makes the world go’round
Chorus 2 :
And it don’t take money, don’t take fame
Don’t need no credit card to ride this train
It’s strong and it’s sudden it can be cruel sometimes
But it might just save your life

They say that all in love is fair
Yeah, but you don’t care
But you know what to do
When it gets hold of you
And with a little help from above
You feel the power of love
You feel the power of love
Can you feel it ?

Chorus 3 :
It don’t take money and it don’t take fame
Don’t need no credit card to ride this train
Tougher than diamonds and stronger than steel
You won’t feel nothin’ till you feel
You feel the power, just the power of love
That’s the power, that’s the power of love
You feel the power of love
You feel the power of love
Feel the power of love

“It’s strong and it’s sudden and it’s cruel sometimes
But it might just save your life
That’s the power… Of fart”
Oh yeah.

[ Lyrics from: http://www.lyricsfreak.com/h/huey+lewis+and+the+news/the+power+of+love_20066339.html ]

Dear Jew in Section 414…

25 Dec

Post by Gutman Braun

Dear Jew in Section 414:

I enjoy a ball game – I always have. And while I know that it’s the MLB off-season, I just felt that it’s as good a time as any to post a general public service message that can be applied to many a similar circumstance.

I see you bearded members of tribe, sometimes in your white shirts, sometimes decked out with the finest in Kutchma headgear, and sometimes with other wardrobe selections. Now, let me make it perfectly clear that I really do support you getting out and seeing the world beyond McDonald Ave or Rodney St, and I’m definitely supportive of your decision to experience the pleasure of watching the real-life beauty of the over-the-shoulder catch or the perfectly turned double-play. More power to you.

However, and I mean this in the nicest way, there are actually codes of etiquette even among heathens and sports fans. I know that this is a bit of a shock to some of you (and chances are you aren’t ever going to even see this website), but it’s really not cool to make an ass of yourself in public. You probably don’t care that I am embarrassed beyond words, or that you’ve caused one more Yankee fan to suddenly think that the Palestinians may have a point, but your ego should kick in at some point and really not want to be considered a complete shithead.

I was thinking of compiling some simple rules, to be written in English, Yiddish and Hebrew, and given to the ushers to hand out when they see the tell-tale peyos or ZZ-Top-look-alike-with-fringes. It would say things like, please behave as if you learned basic manners. Please, do not scream with abandon like an idiot, get drunk, use profanity or cheer for the wrong team. I know that you think you’re just doing what everybody else is, but I assure you that you aren’t. There are proper and improper methods of cheering, there are proper and improper methods of speaking to the guy next to you, and there really is an unwritten code of accepted behavior among civilization.

Yes, it’s true that there may be others who similarly behave poorly while cheering for A-Rod to break his leg, but they should not be your model – they are assholes that you would be best to ignore. And while I know this will cramp you style a bit, I cannot emphasize enough that if you play it safe and behave as if you were at a kabbolas panim you can still really enjoy the game and you won’t keep having to hear Big Joe scream at you to “shut the fuck up and sit down” from six rows behind you.

Thank You.
– Gutman Braun, from the next section over to your right.

Turkey in Brisk?!?! (The Extra Punctuation Means It’s Going to be Exciting!)

24 Nov

My brother is learning in one of the Brisks and has reported eating turkey that was served there today. Unwittingly of course.

More news: This same loyal Yeshivaforum staff reporter has reported seeing a claw game machine with prizes consisting of cigarette packs wrapped in shekels. Upon mention of these curious prizes to the game establishment’s proprietor, said proprietor responded, “Yeah, it’s very meta, right? I first put a falafel in there with a cell phone tied to it, but I ran out too fast.”

In other news, that joke was really weak compared to the actual story and should have been left out.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! If you’re eating with family, have a nice time. If you’re eating with friends, actually have a nice time. If you’re celebrating alone, please don’t kill yourself just yet, I need the readership to hit 20,000 views. If you don’t celebrate because it’s a goyishe holiday, but secretly want to, go to Black Friday shopping and be yotze lfi kol hadai’os.