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Mr. Know-It-All and the Mysteries of the Hebrews

9 Nov

from January 8, 2007

Mr. Know-It-All is back, kids! Listen to me and you’ll go far. Don’t listen to me and I may hit you over the head with a blunt object. Just kidding! Mr. know-It-All is a peaceful man.

This week, as I stumbled my way through yet another work week in a drunken haze, I came across this wonderful “Ask the Rabbi” site. Now, I know what you’re thinking: “What is this shit I’m reading and what’s wrong with him?” The question you should be asking is: “Is Mr. Know-It-All qualified to tackle the tough issues of the Talmud? I know he’s handsome and gifted in the pants, but what is his background in the area of Judaic scholarship?” Let me explain.

At an early age, I received Rabbinical training from Mortimer Schultz, a cantor with a sore throat who was looking to make a few bucks on the side. Sadly, I never completed my training as I was called away to aid a mysterious old man and his two droids as they rescued a space-princess from the Death Star. I promised that I would return, but sadly my mentor died and I was turned to the Dark Side.

Now on with the advice, tools.

  

From: HMATTHEW@AOL.COM

 

A BOY AND HIS COINS

We have a new baby boy and I heard something about having to “buy him back from a kohen.” What do I have to do – and how much is this going to cost?

I know this from experience. I once had to buy a child back from a coven. It was 1978 and my family and I were driving across the desert. In the middle of nowhere, we were surrounded by a gang of satanic bikers, Hell’s Hellions, and they tied up my wife and forced my infant child into a side-car. I tried to stop them, but- what? You asked me about a coven. “Kohen?” What the fuck is a “kohen”? OK, the best I can do is that, right now, in Cambodia, babies go for about $3 a pound. Hope that helps.

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And here’s the next Jew:

MARLBORO MAN?

From: Clifford Harroo of Port of Spain,Trinidad charroo@saintmail.net 2/1/2000

I was born and raised on the island of Trinidad in the Caribbean. It appears that in the western world, a “man” is expected to be macho, keep up with the latest fashion, smoke, drink alcohol, be a womanizer, etc. But experience has shown me that there is something wrong with this definition.

Could you please give me a correct definition from the Torah of what a “man” should be?

The Torah is very clear on the subject: A man should have a penis. A big, thick, Mr. Know-It-All penis. A man should be a man at all times. Men in history, like Dean Martin, were drinkers. Benjamin Franklin was a drunk. Stephen Hawking was a star high school athlete until he became a drinker. Dick Cheney drinks formaldehyde. A man hits horses, a man swaggers when he walks, a man writes an advice column, dammit. In short, in my rabbinical opinion, Mr. Know-It-All is the only real man left.

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Victim, er, letter-writer number three:

GRANDPA’S BAR MITZVAH

From: Jay Wallet – jwallet@bealenet.com 2/1/2000

Many years ago, my grandfather turned 83 and decided to have a second Bar Mitzvah. This was held in conjunction with our oldest son’s Bar Mitzvah. My grandfather said that when you turn 83, its is like 13, since Torah gives a man’s life span as 70 years.

My question is, was my gramps putting one over on us, or was he correct?

You fell for the oldest Jewish trick in the book. The bible is full of nonsense like that. Stuff like “unleavened bread.” Do you know who created unleavened bread? The matzoh companies, that’s who. “Oh, it’s biblical” they say. Mr. Know-It-All says “bullshit!” Streits, Meullers, they’re all in it together. They can make bread cheaper without yeast and mark it way up for the holidays. They’re not fooling me. And this “second Bar-Mitzvah” nonsense is just more of the same. You grandfather ripped you off. Want to know some other things that are allegedly in the bible but aren’t?  How about Noah’s Ark? Who builds an arc if the world is ending? Now I admit that I have only read a few pages of the bible, but I didn’t see any Noah or his ark. If the world was ending I would grab the most beautiful woman I know or just the closest woman I see and tie her up and do stuff that if I wrote it here you’d all want it too. (The women I mean. No homo.)

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Doing good so far:

From: Peter Walters – PeterWalters@bath221254.freeserve.co.uk

I often see a warning on printed material that says: “This contains the Name of God — please dispose of reverently.” I would be grateful if you could give me some advice on how this is done.”
“Reverently” in Mr. Know-It-All language means “with booze.”

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STAR WARS MANIA

From: – ride_the_wave@juno.com 1/27/2000

I recently saw the new Star Wars film “The Phantom Menace” and couldn’t help but think about the spiritual undertones throughout the movie: the Force, the Dark Side, Jedi Knights and Lightsabers. What’s the Jewish perspective on all this?

Ah, the Jewish perspective. Frankly, Jews, Catholics, and almost all religions of the world agree on this topic: That film blows.

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Mr. Know-It-All follows one tenet- what Mr. Know-It-All wants, Mr. Know-It-All gets.

A sailor’s life for me!

8 Nov

from September 23, 2006

I’ve always been drawn to the sea. Even as a child, I had sea-water in my veins. This caused a big problem when I was born. I required a series of very dangerous transfusions to replace all that sea-water with actual blood. But I digress.

My family has a strong naval heritage. While Admiral Bradford Jackson (1898-1953) may be the most prominent member of the Jackson naval fraternity, he was by no means the first. The first documented sailor Jackson was Bryce Jackson, from Scotland in the 15th century. Trust me- it was not easy being a Scottish Jew. Haggis is not kosher, and that’s all anybody ate around there- haggis omelets for breakfast. Haggis on rye for lunch. Haggis fermented into a sort of rum for dinner. It was a real drag. Great-grandpa Bryce enlisted in the navy with the intent of jumping ship in a kosher country. Not finding one, he stayed on board for the next twenty years and eventually died of scurvy.

I have always had an affinity for the ocean. In my room at work I have nautical prints hung and at home a portrait of Lord Nelson hangs above my bed. I learned to swim in the Long Island Sound and the radioactive glow did little to diminish my love of the open water. As a youth, I first went fishing for fluke and then advanced to blues and, later, marlin, by age ten. So it has been a long, deliberate process which has brought me to this decision: I want to be a pirate.

That’s right. A pirate.

“Arrr me mateys! Avast there!” See? I have all the lingo down. Pirates do exist. In Indonesian and Asian waters there exists today a serious problem with piracy that costs the oil industry millions of dollars each year. That is not what I mean. I want to be an eye patch wearing, stripped shirt sporting, walk-the-plank dude. Why not? Pirates don’t punch in at nine, go home at five. They’re pirates 24/7. Wake up, hang someone from the yardarm. Breakfast, then forty lashes for the cook. Lunch, then spot a Spanish galleon of the port bow, unfurl all sails, prepare the cannons. Dinner, then a cutlass duel and a drink till dawn. Plenty of lusty wenches, lots of treasure to bury, nothing but the open waves and the smell of freedom in the air. No boss to report to. Someone has beef with you, shoot them in the back. Go where you want, do what you want, take what you want. You can be as obnoxious as you want to and offend anyone you want.

Pirates remain the last group that is not politically correct. To be a pirate is to BE someone. To be respected. Walk tall, oh men of the ocean! For you are the last true free men. And that is what I aspire to be.