Oh, you made it! Nice to see you, thanks for coming!
Welcome to the Temple Boray Perry Men’s Club Sunday morning meeting, a/k/a “I’m so desperate to get out of the house I’d come here even if I weren’t married to a Jew!”
I'll be kicking off the formal meeting in a minute. Damn it, I hate it when I use the expression "kicking off!" At my age, I'll be depressed all day.
Okay, may I have your attention please? I'm president of the Men's Club Al Rothman and I just want to take few moments to welcome one and few.
Now all of you feel free to grab yourself some coffee and a bagel. Unfortunately the coffee is about as hot as a date with Martha Stewart and the bagels feel as if they were formerly property of the National Hockey League. That’s the last time I pick up our Sunday morning nosh from a place with pictures of Ted Cruz on the wall.
As you all know, this year we will soon be celebrating the holiday of Thanksgivukkah as Hanukkah and Thanksgiving fall together for the first time since 1888 and the last time for thousands of years. Other than Abe Vigoda, there are few Jews who will experience it all three times.
In honor of Thanksgivukkah, I'm delighted to announce that this Friday after shul there will be a special Men's Club pageant entitled "Mayflower Mishigoss," in which the story of the first Thanksgiving will be presented with the Pilgrims portrayed as Jews. Frankly it would have been easier to put on a Christmas Pageant with everyone portrayed as Jews because at least in that scenario everybody was a Jew!
It is my privilege to play the role of Governor Bradford, the leader of the expedition. This is ironic because in real life I get nauseous playing with the boats in my bathtub. Had I been on the Mayflower, fifteen minutes out of Plymouth Harbor I would have been hanging over the edge of ship hastily reconsidering my criticisms of the Church of England.
"So I'll be a gentile!" I'd be saying to myself. "Beats barfing for the next three months!"
And so the Pilgrims land at Plymouth Rock and immediately begin starving to death just as they'd been practicing for months before leaving England. Then one day into their midst strides Squanto, and Squanto teaches the Pilgrims how to feed themselves by tilling the soil and working the land.
Lessons which save the colony but didn't stick with most of us Jews all that long.
Thanks to Squanto, the year's harvest is as rich as the doctor I hope my daughter Gretchen will marry, and the Pilgrims decide to have a celebratory feast, fully catered. The feasting lasts days and ends only when everyone present, Pilgrim and Native American alike, is plotzed-on-the-sofa-in-front of-football-on-TV-open-mouthed-snoring-like a-son-of-a-bitch!
Crap! Guess I should have announced a Spoiler Alert. Oh well, come for the free nosh anyway.
Thanks, gentlemen!
Say, anybody wanna run out to Wawa and get us some real coffee?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In honor of Thanksgivukkah, I'm delighted to announce that this Friday after shul there will be a special Men's Club pageant entitled "Mayflower Mishigoss," in which the story of the first Thanksgiving will be presented with the Pilgrims portrayed as Jews. Frankly it would have been easier to put on a Christmas Pageant with everyone portrayed as Jews because at least in that scenario everybody was a Jew!
It is my privilege to play the role of Governor Bradford, the leader of the expedition. This is ironic because in real life I get nauseous playing with the boats in my bathtub. Had I been on the Mayflower, fifteen minutes out of Plymouth Harbor I would have been hanging over the edge of ship hastily reconsidering my criticisms of the Church of England.
"So I'll be a gentile!" I'd be saying to myself. "Beats barfing for the next three months!"
And so the Pilgrims land at Plymouth Rock and immediately begin starving to death just as they'd been practicing for months before leaving England. Then one day into their midst strides Squanto, and Squanto teaches the Pilgrims how to feed themselves by tilling the soil and working the land.
Lessons which save the colony but didn't stick with most of us Jews all that long.
Thanks to Squanto, the year's harvest is as rich as the doctor I hope my daughter Gretchen will marry, and the Pilgrims decide to have a celebratory feast, fully catered. The feasting lasts days and ends only when everyone present, Pilgrim and Native American alike, is plotzed-on-the-sofa-in-front of-football-on-TV-open-mouthed-snoring-like a-son-of-a-bitch!
Crap! Guess I should have announced a Spoiler Alert. Oh well, come for the free nosh anyway.
Thanks, gentlemen!
Say, anybody wanna run out to Wawa and get us some real coffee?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
4 comments:
I'd just like to point out that a date with Martha Stewart could indeed be hot, depending on your definition of hot. She could feed me the finest cuisine, change all my linens, organize my closets, tidy up my kitchen pantry, and create some pretty fine home decor, all while I'm relaxing with a good book. I'll take that kind of hot...
Thought I'd come and comment on one of your posts since you were so kind to entertain me on Twitter. :)
That's fine. You will have no competition from either me or Al Rothman for Ms. Stewart's affections. Her personal warmth and television presence rivals that of the average chopped liver grinder, although I think the grinder would be way more fun to crank up!
Thanks for commenting, Carrie! That's two down and 198 to go.
Make that 197...
Terrific! I'm well on my way to beating @carrie_rubin!
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