Next, Michelle Wolf Headlines at the Bar Mitzvah of Elliot Grossman

It is a pleasure to have been invited to headline this evening at the Bar Mitzvah of young Elliot Grossman. I’m comedian Michelle Wolf.

Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Robert Grossman for having watched me at the White House Correspondents dinner and deciding that my brand of humor was just perfect for a group of Jews spanning the age bracket from 6 to 97.  I can’t decide if you two are admiringly liberal or just plain nuts.

And there they are the two of them at the head table: the proud parents, Robert and Estelle Grossman! Getting a little paunchy there, aren’t we Robert?  And Estelle, judging by your hair and make-up I take it you’re the one in the family who has the money.  Am I right?

Robert’s secretary Annie Aimsworth is also with us too. Where are you Amy?  Ahh, yes!  Conveniently seated toward the back of the room with your clearly gay co-worker Ralph, pretending he’s your boyfriend. You two look very unconvincing.

Are Robert Grossman and Amy having an affair, you ask. Those two have been under the desk more often than well-chewed gum. But one thing I have to say for Mr. Grossman; he’s the best at delivering fake news since Sandra Huckabee Sanders.

 “I never collude with my wife anymore,” he’s told Amy. Sure. I was walking by their house last night and judging by all the squealing I heard those two were either colluding like Trump and Putin or eating some unbelievably under-cooked roast pig, which I doubt because they’re Kosher.

Then he told her “I love you.” Sure, he loves her!  He loves her like he loves the Philadelphia Eagles: he gets very excited once a week and the rest of the week he spends thinking about who he can acquire who’s younger.

I can’t get into the third instance of Robert’s fake news to Amy because it's so gross it wouldn’t even be appropriate for a White House Correspondents dinner!  You might be able to guess it.

And now let’s talk about Elliot who is today participating in a Jewish tradition that dates back thousands of years in which a 13 year old Jewish boy gets to say “Today I am a man.”  Looking at this kid, I’d say it’ll probably be another thousand years before he actually is a man. Did you ever she such acne? He’s far more likely to attract a dermatologist than a nice Jewish girl.

What’s that, Uncle Morris?”

Didn’t Elliot do a great job chanting his haftarah? Look, Morrie ... May I call you Morrie? ... Cher he’s not. His voice cracked more than the ice on a pond you blunder onto in winter. Talk about paunchy,  your belly could serve as a fun trampoline for the entire Trump Administration!

Well, folks, that brings me to the end of my set. I know some of you might complain that I went over the top and was offensive.  But then this isn’t our nation’s politics I’m screwing with here, it’s just one Jewish family!

Speaking of Jewish families, would you like to hear some material about Jared “Peace in the Middle East” Kushner and Ivanka “Fake Tits” Trump?

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Happy Birthday, Dear Avatar

It's a special Birthday today, September 12, 2016. 

Let's all sing!

But it's not my birthday I'm talking about. 

Quite frankly I haven’t celebrated my birthday since Haley Joel Osment was cute. 

I’m wishing happy birthday to my Avatar.  You know, the profile picture I use on Twitter, Facebook, and this blog.

I was 54 years old when my profile picture was taken and I’m now 67. If my Avatar were a person, it would have already been masturbating for years now.

Although male pattern deterioration had already set in for me at age 54, I was still somewhat marketable. Nobody threw up when they saw me coming and attractive women meeting me for the first time could conceivably have thought “if a horrible catastrophe wiped out all of the men on earth, I could probably get drunk enough to consider mild petting with him.”

None of my facial features had as yet been placed on life support.

The picture was taken on a beautiful warm summer's  day which turned out to be one of my best hair days in a decade, in Disneyworld. Hard to imagine more optimal circumstances under which to muster a decent enough photo of myself to later press into service as my official internet emissary.  

For seven straight years.`

C’mon, don’t play so innocent, fellow Boomer! 

You can’t tell me you’re not rocking an online picture that's been around so long it might have been cropped from a selfie with Kaiser Wilhelm or one in which you’re wearing enough makeup for it to accompany your application to clown school.  

 

Next year, my Avatar will celebrate its Bar Mitzvah.  Mazel tov!  

And in another 13 years or so we may all be together to celebrate its wedding. 

You better believe if I’m still here, my Happy Birthday Avatar will be too!

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Release the Bar Mitzvah Pictures!

In the style of the Onion.

(I didn't say as good as the Onion.)

Claiming that "alleged progressive" candidate for President U.S. Senator Bernie Sanders may well be a fraud, a charlatan, or even worse, a businessman!, former Secretary of State and Presidential candidate Hillary Rodham Clinton has challenged Senator Sanders to release the pictures from his niece Shelly's son Joel's Bar Mitzvah, celebrated on March 14, 2016. 

"Senator Sanders tries to pose as an authentic progressive by wearing shabby wrinkled suits and leaving his thin gray hairs uncombed," Clinton charged, "but the truth is that at his nephew Joel's Bar Mitzvah, Senator Sanders was well-groomed!" 

“He combed and sprayed his hair!  He had a well-pressed Brooks Brothers suit on! He wore wingtips which were immaculately shined!"

Secretary Clinton's vehement demand that Sanders release the Bar Mitzvah pictures is seen as a powerful counter punch to Sanders' demand that Clinton release transcripts of speeches she has given to Wall Street bigwigs. A clearly flustered Senator Sanders yesterday dodged the issue by asserting that Joel's Bar Mitzvah pictures are not yet back from the photographer. 

"What can I do?" Sanders shrugged " For all I know Shelly hasn't even picked out the proofs yet!"

But even some of his supporters aren’t buying this.  Bernie supporter actress Susan Sarandon has announced that if Joel's Bar Mitzvah pictures show Sanders dancing the hora with his hair unmussed, she may hora over to John Kasich.

Additionally Secretary Clinton has released the pictures to every Bar Mitzvah she has ever attended.  "I have nothing to hide," exulted Clinton," I always wear my characteristically frumpy pants suit and I plan to do the same at my granddaughter Charlotte's Bas Mitzvah ten years from now."

"When,  of course, I'll still be president," she added.

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If you liked this post you might also like Trump Stung by Mosquito, Lashes Out at Bug Chicks, Self-Deprecating Man May Really Be As Incompetent As He Says, and The Great Youth Serum Scam. 

If you hated this post, I hope Hillary Clinton forces you to release the pictures from your Bar Mitzvah and it turns out your fly is down in every damn one of them!

The Lone Bar Mitzvah Boy

I recently came across my old Bar Mitzvah record, the large red 78 RPM vinyl disc the cantor made expressly for me back in 1963 to help me prepare for my Bar Mitzvah.  It was stowed away in a box full of other 78 RPM records featuring the likes of  Bugs Bunny, Mickey Mouse, Cinderella, and  all the other favorites of  a childhood spent in the 1950s.

The crowning glory of the box, however, was neither bunny nor mouse but  my complete collection of Lone Ranger records. Together they told the entire saga of the Masked Man of the Plains starting with the origin story, He Becomes the Lone Ranger, to the finale, He and Tonto Retire to Play Golf,  or something like that.

My Bar Mitzvah record was also very special. First of all it was red, so it stood out boldly among the other black vinyl 78s that spun around the slender silver needle of the record player so rapidly you almost expected them to fly off into space! Secondly, and most importantly, the cantor referred to me throughout the entire record by my own name.

"Perry," he would intone, "this is your portion of the Bar Mitzvah service.  Practice it carefully!" 

"Perry," he would go on,"repeat after me:  BARCHU ET ADONAI HAM'VORACH ..."

"And now, Perry," he would counsel at record's end, "if you practice every day with the record you will do well at your Bar Mitzvah and honor yourself, your family, and the Jewish people.  If you fail to practice, on the other hand, God will smite you!"

No, that last part wasn't on the record, only in my terrified imagination of possibly screwing up before several hundred thoroughly disgusted friends and family in synagogue. But also in my imagination was the thought that with a record now impressed with my very own name throughout it, I had somehow become a star!  Or even a hero,  just like ....

A fiery horse at the speed of light, a cloud of dust, and a hearty 'Welcome to My Bar Mitzvah, Mr. and Mrs. Silvers!' ... THE LONE BAR MITZVAH BOY!

 "Twelve year old boys in the West faced many dangers," the staunch and stolid-voiced narrator would intone. "There were savage beasts, unfairly treated Native Americans (cleaning up the original language), and the Butch Cavendish Gang, whose sole purpose was to disrupt the Bar Mitzvahs of nice Jewish boys throughout the West, and in the Philadelphia suburbs as well!"

Butch Cavendish would then shout out "Stop that wagon train of Bar Mitzvah Boys! Don't let them practice for the service!"  And the Cavendish Gang rode off leaving the six Bar Mitzvah Boys for unprepared!

That evening, a Native American surveyed the ambushed Bar Mitzvah Boys. He muttered "Five Bar Mitzvah Boys unprepared. But this Bar Mitzvah Boy know part of the service!" Tonto, the Native American, would thereafter chant every day and every night to the Bar Mitzvah Boy: 

"Now, Kemosabe, repeat after me: BARCHU ET ADONAI HAM'VORACH ..."

Finally, after many days and nights of arduous practice, the Bar Mitzvah Boy was prepared. He said to Tonto: "Thank you, Tonto, I'm completely ready now for my Bar Mitzvah service. There's just one thing."

"What's that, Kemosabe?"

"From now on, I must always wear a mask!"

"Why is that, Kemosabe?"

"So that I can go after Butch Cavendish and he won't know who I am. Also in case I do happen to screw up before several hundred thoroughly disgusted friends and family in synagogue."

"I see, Kemosabe.   Meshuga, but I see."

"Yes, Tonto, from now on I'll be: 

THE LONE BAR MITZVAH BOY!"

************

And the Lone Bar Mitzvah Boy went on to capture Butch Cavendish and to not screw up at his Bar Mitzvah service, although he didn't exactly come off as any High Rabbi at Jerusalem either.

And then, not too long after all of that, my large red 78 RPM Bar Mitzvah record got put away in a box along with my complete collection of Lone Ranger records and the other 78 RPM records of Bugs Bunny, Mickey Mouse, Cinderella, and all the other favorites of a childhood spent in the 1950s.

Sure wish I could play them, but 78 RPM record players haven't existed for many years. But then it doesn't really matter.  Because in my mind and in my memory I can still hear it all:

"He's riding off," the synagogue folk would say, "who was he? We wanted to thank him."

"Why, no need for thanks," the rabbi would tell them. "He's the LONE BAR MITZVAH BOY!" 

"BYE-OH, MR. AND MRS. SILVERS!"

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