Before my father vanished, he warned me to never get my ass in a sling for a woman. He should have also issued a directive against letting her wrap one around my testicles.
MotherofGodthishuuuuuuuuuuuuuurts!
Speed dating, it's fun, you'll like it, my friends all said. The more women you meet, the more you increase your odds of meeting a nice Jewish girl to bring home to Momma, said my brother Marcus.
Stupid ass, Marcus. It may not look like it, brother, but I'm paying for your sins by letting my stones be crucified here.
JesusChriiiiiist! This is not the kind of screwing I signed up for toniiiight.
Yeah, Marcus, he never had his nuts in a vice. Figuratively, OK, I'll give you that, but never one actually rigged out of rosary beads that 90 minutes earlier glinted in the streetlight's vapor as they dangled from the rearview mirror of a Japanese hatchback.
Six months ago, Marcus let a priest in a nightgown that could have been stolen from Great Grandma Belyke's wardrobe pour cold water on his head so he could renounce Satan and 28 years of daily Torah readings and weekly guilt trips at Temple Shalveekvetch for the sake of a woman.
OK, an amazing woman. Marlene. Sweet as the rock candy our aunt used to bring us when she visited. A stray wisp of jet black hair always dropped from the heavens at just the right moment to coyly obscure her left eye and cheekbone. Luminous phrases flowed from her lips and also in the subtlest gesture of her long, tapered fingers. To boot, Marlene had the most awesome collection of vintage '70s New York punk rock vinyl and memorabilia, heavy on the family tree of Johnny Thunders. This package attracted Marcus like none he had ever known, and it sparkled with none of the shitska She-deviltry Momma spat out with the venom built up from two millennia of wronged ancestors and two decades of commiseration with other victims living within an eight-block radius of our crumbling brownstone version of the Holy Land.
And Marlene loved Marcus with a devotion lacking the treacle that so often drips from young lovers. Instead it radiated like the invisible waves of heat rising and expanding from fireplace coals that restore a man who's returned from a long, barren winter's hunt. Marcus basked in this and, voluntarily, he gave up his faith for her. The prospect of never again having to spend a Saturday Shabbat locked in the house in prayerful contemplation with the gaggle consisting of the ancient, the abandoned and me only hastened this divine intervention.
Eeeeeeeegod, I think I have foreskin again!
She was Number 159.
Her auburn ringlets glowed from across the room, immediately giving away that this was not her usual crowd. When she sat at my table, a pair of pale green eyes sucked me in like virgin pulmonary sacs latching on to that first smoky sweetness of nicotine.
Nice Jewish girl for Momma, my balls.
MyGoddamnachingballs!
She said, "Hello, there. I'm Kathleen."
I heard, "Jackpot."
The balls I am not in possession of just crawled up into my abdomen.
Posted by: Mr Lady | Friday, March 12, 2010 at 08:25 AM
Oh my stars, the last two lines are KILLER.
....and A stray wisp of jet black hair always dropped from the heavens at just the right moment set off windchimes in me.
I loved this!
Posted by: Jett | Friday, March 12, 2010 at 09:26 AM
Temple Shalveekvetch and Number 159 made me laugh so hard I had to go back and reread the whole thing to appreciate the rest for its brilliant imagery. Nicely done, sir.
Posted by: Skye | Friday, March 12, 2010 at 09:37 AM
oh boy another nice
Jewish boy gone taken off the roster
Posted by: jessica | Friday, March 12, 2010 at 11:04 AM
"Temple Shalveekvetch" haha! nicely done.
Posted by: mommymae | Friday, March 12, 2010 at 04:31 PM
"The ancient, the abandoned and me..."
That's gonna stick in my head for a bit.
Posted by: TwoBusy | Friday, March 12, 2010 at 04:35 PM
That was every nice jewish boy's shared fantasy.
Posted by: Homemaker Man | Friday, March 12, 2010 at 06:08 PM
I know you speak from experience.
Posted by: Kevin (Always Home and Uncool) | Friday, March 12, 2010 at 08:04 PM
don't pass this around town. it'll catch on and you'll be to blame.
brazilliant!
Posted by: ms picket to you | Sunday, March 14, 2010 at 02:21 PM
never trust a woman who can't keep her hair out of her eyes. also, remind me to make a salon appointment.
you've always got the goods.
Posted by: foradifferentkindofgirl (fadkog) | Monday, March 15, 2010 at 10:16 PM
I'm interested in such offer,The sound quality in these podcasts is really poor. I feel bad about complaining about something that is free, but I think it is important.
Posted by: Manolo Blahnik bottines | Thursday, December 15, 2011 at 03:06 PM