Art is dead. Long live Art.
Recently I've had a lot of people ask me: You know [Shlomocles], I do so love when you write your funny words for me on the magic TV-phone-box, but where do you come up with your wacky picture ideas? Well I'm glad you asked me that [insert name here]. Below you'll see the rigorous testing grounds for blog pictures.First, under the influence an extremely delicate combination of speed and rufies, I generate a concept.
Then, I "borrow" a picture from the internet.
Various versions are tested for their humor quotient.The Pretentious One:
The Philosophical One:
The Obscure Reference one: 
The Super One:
Finally, I print them out, put them all in a giant bucket, fill it with a combination of wood glue and human saliva and throw it against my wall. The one that stays up the longest is the winner.
In Good Taste a.k.a. Meat thy Neighbors
As I sat in my bedroom, mesmerized by the soft glowing polygonal dance of my newest addicti—I mean videogame, I wondered if I should save before continuing on to the next stage. The answer, it turns out, is that I’m an idiot. For not two minutes after my momentary bout of precaution, the po
wer in my house flickered, and was whisked away like a fart in the wind. Upstairs the sound of my mother’s profanity indicated that this was no mere blown fuse, and as I reached the top of the stairs, a reasonably sized explosion-type noise followed by a reasonably sized explosion-type puff of smoke emanated from a house down the street. Now I of course wanted to investigate, but my mother -- who I’m fairly certain has seen an episode of “24” -- was worried that the explosion might be exactly what the terrorists wanted me to do. Fortunately I’ve stopped listening to my mother ever since she bought me a long-sleeved jean shirt (I love you mom).
When I went to see what had happened I found an impromptu neighborhood watch meeting had been called -- the first such meeting since the stickers were put in all of our windows and promptly forgotten, which I imagine happened sometime after our neighborhood was built and before people learned of the modern wonders of the telegraph -- and dumbfounded gawking was the first item on the agenda. Standing there watching my neighbors recount in detail, and then re-recount in more detail each moment leading up to the dramatic discovery of a tree in their road, I realized that for some this would be the high point of their month, and a little part of me died. It became clear that to the participants involved this was the scene in the murder mystery when everyone hears the gunshot and runs into the foyer (and by that I mean fwä'yā' or possibly foi'ā', but certainly not foi'ər) to discover the victim (in this case our power transformer), and as the evidence piled up concordance was reached: in fact a tree had fallen down. To an outsider watching us gather, however, I imagine it would have appeared more like the scene in which the meteorite lands on the farm and all the townsfolk come outside, scratch their Osh-Kosh-Bgosh clad bums and say “yup;” all right before the aliens walk out and zap them all.
Now I live in a “Cul-de-sac”, which is French for “poor design concept,” and unfortunately, this means that as long as that tree blocked the road, we were effectively cut off from civilization. And as we stood there, surveying the damage wreaked not only upon the matter of our streets, but upon the mettle of our very lives, I’d like to think we all knew that if we were going to make it through this together, one eventuality was certain: we would have to feast upon the bodies of our fallen comrades.
The pregnant woman would have to go first. She’s young, but we don’t have a doctor on the block, so chances are the birth might yield the same results. Plus it just wouldn’t be right to bring a child into such a hopeless situation.
Next would be her post-abortable daughter (she was about three). It’s a horrible thing to be orphaned, I mean no one wants to grow up without her parents, and I think we can all agree that it would be better to save her from having to experience any future tragedies.
The older neighbors after that, they’ve already had a full life, and besides, arthritis has already done most of the tenderizing for us.
I’d only nibble on sickies, uggos and fatties, because after all, you are what you eat, and after that, it’s your basic mop up operation, anyone who can’t run, jump or swim fast enough to get away from me (triathletes get a lucky break). And before you say anything, I know what you’re thinking: Of course I wouldn’t cannibalize my own mother, I’m not heartless! God!
My orthodox cousin once told me that a live cat was probably the most unkosher food you could eat. He was 10 at the time, but he’s
studying to be a rabbi now, so I’m holding him to it. But you’ll notice he didn’t say anything about humans…
As it turned out, the city sent a truck by and they cleared the offending tree and had the power back on by lunch, and thank goodness everyone was ok. Unfortunately in a fit of panic I’d already eaten my neighbor’s hamster, but I mean, a guy’s gotta snack.
Blobbyists Inc.
In other news: Jack Abramoff seriously needs to cut this 1930’s gangster outfit crap out. And in general the whole “conniving, thieving, manipulating, money grubbing” thing, he could cut that out as well. Not to remind people of something they’d rather not think about, but there was a time when Jewish people got a shitty rap for being conniving thieving, manipulating things, and I’m not saying that one person is in any way a representation of his people, but it would still concern me if Abramoff started drinking the blood of Christian children too. For a couple of reasons I guess.
Holey Sheet!
Today I want to talk about myths. And sex. Now there are plenty of nice happy historical myths about sex, like the one where Zeus turned his lady love into a cow to hide her from his wife, or the one where there’s this woman, and she’s just really hot and then a bunch of people fight over her for ten years, or that one where the woman blames her unwanted pregnancy on go--oh wait, that one’s just a story my mom tells every Thanksgiving, never mind. Anyway, I don’t really recall them all but you get the idea, good family stories. But I’m talking more about contemporary sexual myths. To give you an idea, let’s play a game called “which one is true?” I’ll list some common myths, half of which are true, half false, and you tell me if you know which is which: 
1. Is it true that
Men think about sex every seven seconds.
Or that
The drug clomipramine has been known to cause orgasms in yawning patients.
2. Is it true that
A Woman sought medical help to remove a deer tongue she had used for masturbatory purposes.
Or that
One of the castle spires on the cover of Disney's The Little Mermaid home video was deliberately drawn as a phallus by a disgruntled artist. Not only that, but the minister officiating at Ursula's wedding ceremony in The Little Mermaid had an erection.
3. Is it true that
A man seeking sexual pleasure caught his penis in a swimming pool suction fitting.
Or that
A Man stapled his scrotum back together after slicing it open while masturbating with shop machinery.
Actually both of those are true. Sorry guys, it turns out we suck.
4. Lastly, is it true that
Over 50% of women over 30 masturbate.
Or that
Orthodox Jews have marital relations through a hole in a sheet.
To find out the answer, just click on the associated link
Grading:
If you got 0 right who gives a crap
If you got 1-2 right who gives a crap
If you got 3-4 right who gives a crap
…
I’m not really that much into quizzes.
Anyway, if you said that Orthodox Jews have marital relations through a hole in a sheet then you’re not alone. But you are an idiot. In fact, even Larry David bought into the myth in a now classic episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm (n.b., Classic here denotes that my friend Jeff said it was totally awesome). Anecdotally, some people think that the sheet myth came from people who saw talits hanging out to dry after being cleaned.
I also recently received an e-mail from a friend of mine enraged by a story that that Jesus would soon be depicted as homosexual in a new movie. Now, aside from the stern talking to I wanted to give my friend for his views on both sexuality and censorship, I replied to him and everyone he had sent the message to verbally spanking him for passing it along. (Check out more about this common myth here and here).
Point being: Please check this kind of shit out before blindly passing it along. www.snopes.com is to my knowledge the best place to go for rumor verification, and a few seconds could save you and your friends a lot of time, fear, and anger. More importantly, it saves me from having to think you’re an idiot.
Some other debunked sexual myths that you might fancy:
Pornography leads to violence against women.
It takes women longer to orgasm than men.
You can't get STDs or STIs from giving or receiving oral sex.
Men can’t be the victims of sexual abuse
Having good sex comes naturally.
If a girl has sex during her period, there is no chance of pregnancy.
The size of a man's nose, hands, or feet is a reliable indicator of the size of his penis.
Also fun: Who’s doing it and how often
And a FAQ (Frequently Asked Questions) about Jewish Society and Culture
Note: The writer of this blog is not a licensed sexologist, but he considers himself to be an unrecognized expert in the field. Mostly because he's an egotistical bastard. Also: his mother thinks he is special (not related in anyway, but he just thought you should know).
Man, and I didn't even get to make a "layman" pun. Bummer.
Goyim and Guavas and Goldeneye, oh my.
So I just got back from Hawaii, and while I was there, I noticed that there were Hawaiian themed Christmas decorations. I noticed them because they were freaking everywhere. Christmas in Hawaii is like a seventh grader at a school dance: awkward and trying too hard. There were Christmas trees all around, but get this, instead of being covered in standard ornaments, they were covered in Hawaiian ornaments! So it was like, instead of a candy cane a pineapple; and instead of a wreath, a lei; and instead of an angel on top, another pineapple (ok, it might have been a guava). And I just want to know one thing: Where is Hawaiian Hanukkah?!? (for some reason also called Chanukah, which I think is just Hanukkah for feisty Jews). I did not see one single palm-tree themed menorah, nor tropical umbrella Kippah, nor mai tai Mikvah, nor was my plate graced with a seared ahi latke. I’m not bitter, I’m just a little… ok, I guess I’m bitter.
Also, in the airport gate on the way back from Hawaii, my sister unknowingly sat next to Pierce Brosnan for about an hour. I knew this but I’m not really that bi
g into being an annoying asshole, so I left him alone. The only thing I really wanted to do was go up to him and say “No matter what other people say, I just wanted to let you know that you’ve always been my favorite Baldwin Brother,” but I’m not entirely convinced that he would have appreciated that as much as I do.
In other news, Ariel Sharon just had a debilitating stroke. Now I’m personally all for the creation of a Palestinian state and more generally peace in the middle east, but I gotta say – first Yitzhak Rabin and now this happening so soon after the formation of the Kadima party – all I’m saying is that people who want to make a case that god is against the peace process are probably feeling pretty good about themselves today. Bastards.
Various versions are tested for their humor quotient.
