Are You Kosher? (20 page)

Chapter 37

No Offense

I was taking a few moments to read over what I have been putting down on paper for the last few hours and I realized that there is going to be a great many of you who feel that this is some sort of hate journal in the manner of
Mein Kampf
or some piece of trash that the KKK likes to produce. The simple fact of the matter is that there is not one racist thing that I have said, when you take the time to get off of your liberal “high-horses” and appreciate exactly what it is that I am doing here.

For around six thousand years, I have had the pleasure of living among your kind, but with that comes a great deal of disgrace and disgust. Disgrace that I have had to share my existence with such a shortsighted group, and disgust that you all seem to have forgotten the one truly remarkable gift that was bestowed upon all of you by G-d. That gift is a sense of humor.

If a black comedian makes jokes about white people, he is racist. If a white one does the same, he is not only a racist, he is a white supremacist. You are all wrong. They are making observations about what they see, looking in on another culture from the outside. In my case, I have had a lot more time to observe and critique and I can tell you that every single one of you is fucked up in the head.

I can imagine having this book published and hearing on one of the nightly news programs that the president has denounced my memoirs as being inflammatory. I can say to you that he has more important things to worry about than the writings of a neurotic vampire. I’m sure that I am going to do more for the peace process in Israel than any politician has ever dreamed of; both sides are going to agree that they want me dead. Good luck with that, my sand-surfing friends.

Civil rights advocates will demand that this book be stripped from bookshelves across the globe, and why would they say this? Because I am not politically correct.

Let’s tackle that subject. This is perhaps the most important reason I started writing these memoirs. I cannot even begin to tell you how frustrating it is sometimes to live among you. You all take offense at everything and anything that you don’t agree with. You have something called free will, but that does not mean that you can impose it on others. Look at the history of your kind; how many wars have been started over arguments of whose G-d has a bigger dick? You have priests on opposing sides blessing their particular sides. I thought that the priests were supposed to be on the same side, not to mention the fact that I am pretty sure that it says in every form of the Bible that it is wrong to kill, but what do I know? I was only around when a bulk of that book was written.

You are all so paranoid about saying the wrong thing in public that you have taken it to a level tantamount to censorship. You may not think so, but take a step back and a deep breath and realize that I am right. Listen to your elders for a change.

And every single one of you is guilty of this. I can almost hear my fellow Jews cheering, saying to themselves, “He’s going after the Arabs.” Well, yes, I am going to go after the Arabs, but I have a bone to pick with you first.

The Jews are a people with one of the richest and beautiful traditions the world has ever known, but you piss it all away with your incessant kvetching. What are you whining about? Yes, horrible things have been done to our people, but you are not all Boy Scouts either. You do not exactly endear yourselves to those around you. You act as if you must keep yourselves separate or face the wrath of G-d. Guess what? You already did! Why do you think the Messiah has not come to deliver you? Because he tried already and you put him on trial for heresy! I was there; I saw it firsthand. You may not have actually been the ones who killed him, but you rented the playground for the party. I watch everyone and it drives me crazy to know that a people that have so much to offer and have done so much for the good of this planet can continue to be such unapologetic shmucks. They still believe that they are the chosen ones. Well, they are partly right; they have been personally chosen by me to make fun of. No offense.

While on the topic of unapologetic shmendriks, let me address the situation regarding our distant cousins, the Arabs, or more specifically, the Muslims.

You are just as fucked up as the Jews are, except you are a bit more dangerous because you don’t realize what it is that you are doing wrong. I have said that I have known many Muslims over the span of my lifetime and have true affection for each and every one of them. The difference is that not one of those beautiful people that I considered my friend would ever even consider doing the crap that you feel is justified. I am not speaking to all Muslims, just the ninety percent that this statement applies to. You have taken a wonderful culture and flushed it down the toilet. I lived for many years in your part of the world and found it to be remarkable. The achievements you made in architecture, food, and government were all well ahead of the times, but somewhere, you lost yourselves and decided that it was better to say, “It’s us against the world” and “We’re going to blow up the world.” Are you serious? You blow up your own people with suicide bombers, you put explosives in baby carriages, and you fly airplanes into buildings! You justify this by saying that it’s the Jews’ fault, or the Americans’. Is someone holding a gun to your head and making you do this? No. If someone is offended by what I’m writing, guess what? They can stop reading. I am in no way, shape, or form claiming that a person does not have the right to defend himself, but nobody from this side of the globe was in your side until after you attacked. Your leadership is like the spoiled little fat kid who breaks his mother’s favorite vase and then cries when he gets spanked. Grow up, you big fucking babies! No offense.

And just to show that I am not one-sided on the topic of big fucking babies, let me attack the leadership of the country that I now call home, America the beautiful.

I do believe in my heart that this is without a doubt the greatest country the world has ever known. But come on, guys, do you really live in a glass house that big? At every chance that comes up, the American government imposes its will on those who are not as fortunate, whether it be the citizens, their neighbors, or a group of people that happen to speak a different language and live in shit-covered huts.

In the history of the world, there have never been more wars than after the founding of this great country. Is that entirely America’s fault? No, but you have to at least respect the irony that a country founded on the basis of freedom has so blatantly tried to impose its will on the world for so long while ignoring the crises at home.

I watched the news the other day and saw that they were launching another space shuttle at a cost of four hundred million dollars. That is enough money to give every household in this country a cool million each to relieve the stress that is on them. That’s what I call a stimulus package. But no, we have to go into space to take fancy pictures and to launch bombs into the moon to find water that our own scientists say is not really water, and to seek intelligent life. First of all, if there were intelligent life out there, it would stay as far away from this place as possible. Second, if there were an advanced race traveling through the cosmos, they would have already arrived and conquered us. That is what technologically advanced civilizations do. They find weaker people and subjugate them before eradicating them. Look up the history books at an elementary level. It’s all right there. Or you can take it from me; I’ve seen it done time and time again.

This country likes to refer to itself as the big brother to the world. Well, I don’t remember the world asking. Take care of the mess you made at home and then you can stick your noses in other people’s business. It’s like a parent who has a child that likes to run around the house with a fork. Let the little bastard stick it into an outlet. When he gets shocked, he’ll know not to do that anymore. If he dies from it, he won’t grow up to have children that stick forks into wall sockets. My message to the leadership of this country is to mind your own business, build a wall near Mexico, let the rest of the worlds fanatics kill themselves off, and then do like Bubbe and buy up the choice real estate. No offense.

Let’s talk about those whacky Catholics now. I know that I am going to receive hate mail and death threats for this one. Just do me a favor—send them to my Facebook page or to my agent because I hate reading mail.

The Catholic church is the most powerful, influential, and sinister organization that has ever shown up on the tuchas of the world. They are responsible for more wars than can be counted, they funded the slave trade, they have molested and mentally crippled countless numbers of children, and what’s with the pope wearing a fucking yarmulke?

I have already gone on record as calling him a Nazi, and I know that many of you were offended, but let’s look at the facts. He was a member of the Hitler Youth. That’s not exactly like signing on for the AV club in junior high school. This pope is no different from any of his predecessors in the way that they have handled any of the issues that concern the world. Everything is pomp and circumstance with them, and almost every single remark that is issued from the Vatican is pure dreck. They stand on their soap boxes and condemn whatever does not fit the agenda of the Church, but they are the last ones to condemn each other when it comes to their love of altar boys. I know what you’re saying. “Those are just rumors.” Right, and the Holocaust never happened. I believe that was also a remark made by an infamous pope. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. I am sure that you are all in a somewhat small state of shock that I went after the Church, but you know what? Fuck them! They are the single largest group of pedophiles, murderers, tax evaders, hypocrites, racists, warmongers, and liars that the world has ever seen, and I have been around long enough to see just about all of it. No offense.

I really could go on all day about these shmucks, but I know that I have without a doubt offended the members of the black community as well, and all that I can say to you is that you have to grow up. Perhaps more than anyone.

For starters, please stop referring to yourselves as African-Americans. How many of you have even been to Africa, or can even identify Africa on a map? When I was in culinary school, I studied under a great chef who was born and raised in Africa and it would drive him crazy to have students with African names whose parents had never even been to the so-called mother land. When you are a second generation citizen of this country, you are no longer an African-American, you are an American! Deal with it.

Do not blame everyone else for the problems that affect you, because everybody has dreck to deal with. Did you really think that electing a black president was going to magically wash away your problems? I have already gone on the record about how you cannot trust politicians, and he is no different.

Please stop making up names for your children. JaMarcus, DaMario, Craphonso, LaDarius—those are not real names!

This is where the biggest crime occurs on a daily basis, because out of all the different races I have associated myself with over the centuries, I have enjoyed none more than that of my shvartze friends. I know that you are probably asking, “Why do you keep calling them shvartzes?” Because if I kept referring to them as black, which is what shvartze means, I would be criticized for that, too, so I just write what’s comfortable to me.

Many like to accuse the Jews of living in the past. Well, my shvartze friends are just as guilty. Atrocities have been committed against them for longer than history can record, but much of it was inflicted by other shvartzes or the Church. How is that the fault of anyone who is alive today? It’s not. I guess that you have to be as old as I am to realize that everyone feels that they have been wronged in some manner. Stop dwelling on it and move forward. No offense.

I am going to stop this little rant of mine now because the whole purpose of this was to make obvious to all of you why people hate each other, why they feel no pity for their fellow man, why they can’t seem to get past this ridiculous political correctness that has become a plague. Every single race, religion, and nationality, and the Dutch, have something that deserves to be laughed at. No offense.

Maybe it has taken the late-night rantings of an old vampire to wake all of you up to the mess that you have made of your lives or the realization that when you look at yourselves in the mirror, you’ll appreciate that each and every one of you is pretty pitiful and worth criticizing. The one thing that every single one of you has lost is the sense of humor that you have been blessed with. Shut up and stop taking yourselves so seriously, because I don’t take you seriously at all. I am not trying to paint myself as some kind of great philosopher, but you have to admit that when you take the time to really soak in what I just said, I’m not too far off.

For those of you who are too ignorant or stubborn to change your ways …

Gay tren zeicht!

Look it up, you ignorant bastards.

No offense.

Chapter 38

Vampires Don’t Reflect in Mirrors

Well, now that I have officially pissed off half of my demographic, I feel that it is time to address another matter that is near and dear to my heart: the belief that my kind show no reflection in mirrors.

Sadly, a few years ago, Mrs. Rosen, the cookie lady of Marine Park, passed away and it was time to sit shiva for her. Because Bubbe considered her a friend, she took the reins when it came to her mourning period. Fellow Jews will understand what I am talking about, but for the benefit of my goyem friends out there, I will give a brief synopsis of the rituals regarding death.

When someone of the Jewish faith dies, it is customary to sit shiva, which is nothing more than friends coming to the house with food and comfort for the loved ones of the deceased. They sit around telling the surviving family members what a great person he or she was, even if everyone in the room knows that the deceased was a complete and total shmuck. One of the peculiarities of the ritual, however, is to cover every mirror and reflective surface in the house. There are many reasons why this custom is practiced and each one of them is funnier to me than the next. Here are a couple of my favorites.

The first is that it was once believed that that the image of a person reflected in a mirror was believed to be an image of the soul, and if the soul of the deceased saw itself in the mirror, it might steal it. So now we believe in ghosts? The next thing you’re going to say is that a priest makes a great babysitter. Another reason for this mishegas is that it was customary not to act vain during a time of mourning and G-d would be mad at you for gazing upon yourself. All that I can say about this is that if we were created in G-d’s image, why would He not want to look at something that looks as good as me? The third reason also has to do with G-d. It claims that if you look into a mirror, you are somehow blaming G-d. This one makes absolutely no sense. If that were true, than every time I stepped out of the shower, I would be blaming him for the small size of my shmekel.

That all being said, why would Bubbe go through the trouble of covering mirrors if none of us had a reflection? To show compassion and respect for others? When have you known her to do anything like that?

I have mentioned before how vampires are a decadent and beautiful race. How would we know that if we could not gaze upon our own images in mirrors? It makes no sense. I personally love mirrors. I love to look at myself when the bathroom is all steamy and my body is all glistening, despite the small genitalia. Did you know that mirrors were used during the Crusades to decode messages? It’s true. I just thought that I would throw that out there.

I personally love mirrors so much that I even installed one on the ceiling in my bedroom. Have you ever had sex in a bed that had a mirror on the ceiling? I have. It’s amazing, and it gives you a whole new perspective on the act of intercourse. Of course, I had to do it when Bubbe was away in the Catskills. She doesn’t let me bring girls home. Because of the mirror, I don’t watch porn on video. I will watch some of the lesser material on the late-night cable channels, but when you watch porn, it’s like watching someone force-feed a midget a hairy kielbasa.

Back to my mirror on the ceiling. A few years ago, I installed it for all of the above reasons, including the fact that I have learned that women love to see a great looking tuchas working hard to thrust away to bring them to the point of singing show tunes. Not tongues, show tunes. Besides, I have a great ass. Unfortunately for me, though, on one particular night it all went terribly wrong. My hands shake just to think about it. Apparently I am not the only member of the Glassman family that likes ceiling mirrors.

It all happened some time ago. I came home late one night from a great evening of feasting to find Bubbe passed out on the sofa. She must have been watching Johnny Carson and lost track of time. The network was beginning to sign off and I thought that it would be wiser to just sneak upstairs and go to bed. I quietly pulled off my shoes and made my way slowly up the stairs. I’d learned a long time ago the pattern of which ones creaked and which ones didn’t.

I popped into the bathroom quickly to take care of some business and headed off to my room. When I opened the door, I saw my mother and her boyfriend of the time, Jacob Schwartzman, in full thrust and release. I’m not quite sure what kind of kinky sex game they were playing, but I distinctly remember seeing happy faces drawn on his butt-cheeks and two tiny yarmulkes glued above both of them. Maybe this was her idea of a gang bang, maybe she wanted to have something interesting to look at while the two of them were performing carnal behavior, maybe … What the fuck am I saying? This was my bed! And not only was my mom naked in it, I was going to have to figure out a way to hold down the kosher Chinese I had eaten a few hours ago.

“What the hell is going on in here?” I yelled.

Jacob jumped off of my mother and ran behind my chair, the tiny yarmulke on his cheeks flapping with each stride.

“Izzy, what are you doing here?” my mother asked, not even bothering to cover herself.

“What am I doing here?” I asked, shocked. “This is my room and what is soon going to be my old bed!”

“Quiet, you’re going to wake up your bubbe,” she said calmly.

“Oy vey, Zena’s not going to find out about this, is she?” Jacob asked, quivering behind the chair.

“Yes, she’s home. She’s sleeping!” I replied and turned to Jacob and said, “You better not pish yourself in my room! If you do, you’re licking it up!”

“Izzy, calm down,” my mother said calmly.

“What the hell is happening?” I asked nobody in particular, trying not to make eye contact at my still fully nude and uncovered mother.

“Izzy,” she started, “I know that the two of us have never had this talk, but I had always assumed …”

“I knew what you were doing!” I shouted. “But why in my room and in my bed?!”

She looked up and said, “It’s the mirror. I always thought that it was so Greta Garbo.”

“Greta Garbo?” I asked, confused. “What are you, drunk again?”

“Can I have my pants, please?” Jacob asked, still cowering behind my chair.

“Oy vey, Jacob, stifle. We’re not done yet. Go to my room; there’s a bed in there.”

“Yes!” I screamed. “There is a bed in your room, why don’t you use that?”

“It’s a water bed and I get motion sickness,” Jacob said.

“Get the fuck out of my room!” I exploded at him.

“What’s with all the mishegas?” my mother asked.

I could feel the blood vessels in my brain swelling to the point of popping. “Are you insane? I just walked in on my mother having sex on my bed and you are still naked!” I rubbed my temples. “Have you ever walked in on Bubbe?”

She shrugged me off and said, “Oh Izzy, now you’re just being disgusting.” She lit a cigarette and said, “You’re obviously too immature to talk rationally so would you please turn around.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Why?’ she asked, surprised and, I might add, still uncovered and obviously cold. “So Jacob and I can go to my room with some small degree of privacy.”

Privacy?
I thought, I just got a bird’s-eye view of what it must have been like in the Oval Office when Clinton asked, “Do you like cigars?”

Jacob nervously grabbed his clothes and headed out of my room, trying to cover up to the best of his ability. My mother looked at me and said, still unclothed I might add, “Don’t touch anything. I’ll be back in a little while to tidy up and change your sheets.”

I shook my head and asked, “When you do that can you change my eyeballs?”

“Oy, you are such a baby.” She gave me a small slap on the cheek and said, “Give me a kiss.” She leaned her cheek toward me.

I looked away again and replied, “I’ll wait until you’re clothed and maybe have a chance to wash my brain.”

“Stop overreacting,” she said dismissively.

“Why are you naked in my house?!” we heard Bubbe yell from the hallway.

“Oh, please don’t hurt me, Mrs. Glassman,” came Jacob’s weak reply.

“Oy, I’ve gotta go,” Mom said and headed out of my room.

I headed off to a hotel. There was no way I was going to spend one night in that bed for the rest of my life. What I was in desperate need of was a good night’s sleep and a hazmat outfit, not to mention some eye-cleansing solution.

Jacob wound up meeting the dangerous end of Bubbe’s wooden spoon on a very intimate level that evening, and my mother was grounded. My mattress was incinerated and my room disinfected. To this day, whenever I see one of those little “Have a nice day” smiley faces, I break into a sweat. All from a harmless mirror.

The point of all of this is that if vampires were not able to see their reflections in a mirror, none of this would have happened. The sanctity of my room would not have been broken, I would not need a sleeping pill at night, and I would never have found out about my mother’s tattoo, or more specifically, where it’s located.

I still love mirrors, but I had to take mine down for obvious reasons. I offer this advice to any of you who have similar living conditions to mine. No ceiling mirrors, keep your bedroom locked at all times, and if by some unfortunate chance you should walk in on your mother, pray that your bubbe is home.