Top 10 Jewish Years of the Decade

1) 5764
2) 5766
3) 5767
4) 5769
5) 5768
6) 5762
7) 5765
8) 5763
9) 5761
10) 5760

Pat Robertson's Christmas

This blessed time of year always makes me contemplate the late Pat Robertson. This man who allowed the Lord to flow through him and then out through the air waves to the masses. He had the power to heal by channeling the love of the Lord. This was his favorite time of year. He relished the countdown towards Christmas every year. It had nothing to do with the anticipatory expressions across the faces of youngsters clamoring for the latest gadget or doll. It had everything to do with a designated time dedicated to glorifying the achievement of Jesus Christ, our savior.

Pat Robertson enabled us to bask in His light. Pat Robertson gave us His strength, which allowed us to carry on when times were tough. Sometimes this season, the season of Christmas, can bring about sadness, because it is a season of memories and a reminder of those we've lost. But Pat Robertson taught, through the Lord's wisdom, to only remember and cherish the good times with our lost loved ones. Christmas should be a time to celebrate their lives and the life of Jesus Christ. It's a time for joy and tidings.

Pat Robertson, a man taken from us here on Earth, shall he keep Jesus Christ company up in the Kingdom of Heaven.

Top 10 Years of the Decade

1) 2006
2) 2004
3) 2009
4) 2007
5) 2008
6) 2005
7) 2002
8) 2003
9) 2001
10) 2000

Encountering a Nazi at Work

"You're Jewish?" a student of mine asks with disconcerting surprise. "I'm going to tell the Nazis to come get you!"

A week later, the student, an eleven year old girl, enters the learning center. She's accompanied by her mother and a large man with no hair who looks remarkably out of place. "There he is!" my student bubbles while skipping towards me and pointing. The buff bald man donning a light camouflage jacket, which is left opened exposing his brown wife beater, and army green khakis, focuses his eyes on me. A snarl of delight runs across his lips. "Come with me kike," his gruff voice demands nonchalantly.

I stifle a "Go fuck yourself," remembering that there are several young students occupying the room. "Let's go Jew," he recites, now standing right over me as I sit next to my computer. I figure I can better deal with the situation from outside the learning center, so I rise and begin to walk out the door. As I'm leaving, I look at the eleven year old girl and offer, "What about her? She's Asian." The man motions for her to follow us.

Outside, he grabs me. I aim for his balls, but can't seem to find the target. Another, smaller man, gets a hold of my student. We're dragged outside. I'm putting up a fight, wailing away, but nothing seems to be working. My student is stiff and motionless. We're thrown into their van and beaten into submission.

I awake in a shed. My student is sitting in the fetal position next to me. "What is this place?" she asks me. She's looking at me as if I'm the path to her survival. Probably a makeshift concentration camp. "It's a shed." That seems to calm her a tinge. "Why are we here?" Because you told a Nazi that I'm Jewish! "Because you told a Nazi that I'm Jewish!" Her fright turns into a smirk, "I was just joking! And you told him I was Asian!" I lower my head in shame, "I didn't think he'd take it seriously. Plus, I didn't think that would be any great revelation." She's ready to pounce and then recoils, "What?" I give her a "Never mind."

"I'm hungry." I lean back and tell her, "Get used to it." Just then the larger man bursts through the door. "Here you go, you fag cunts!" My student screams her tears. I'm trying to decipher what a fag cunt could possibly be. While attempting to uncork that paradox, the man slings two slices of cool bread into my face and leaves, not waiting for a response. I hand one to my student. Her tears change the consistency of her meal. I wipe her tears and squeeze her shoulder. "It'll be alright." She looks up at me with a child's optimism, "Really?" I smile, and in a fit of realism, respond, "I hope." For some reason, her tears dry and an old smile fills her face.

The next morning, after the worst night of sleep in my entire life, the smaller man enters. He throws two slices of bread on the floor as if we're pigs ready to pounce on slop. He begins to walk out of the shed.

"Wait. Sir."
"What kike?" He speaks quickly.
"Why are we here?"
"You know why, you Jew bastard."
"No sir, I don't. Why are we here?"
"Cletus says because you Jew fucks claim you were in concentration camps. But you Jews are liars. The Holocaust never happened."
"I still don't understand; why are we here?"
"You stupid Jew! Cletus says because we want to make an honest man out of you Jew turds. Understand now, idiot moron?"
"Yes. Thank you." The small man turns to leave, but I call out once more. "Wait." He turns slightly. "Do you like Hitler?"
He turns all the way to face me. "Well yes, of course!" His eyes are glowing with pride. "He did so many good things."
"Like what?" I ask with feigned innocent curiosity, hoping not to provoke him.
"Oh, well, so much. He killed so many dirty Jews. A great man. Too bad he didn't get a chance to kill them all."
"But sir," my hand is stroking my beard and I appear to be deep in thought as if I'm instantaneously discovering some great revelation, "You said the Holocaust never happened."
"It didn't, you lying Jew."
"But if the Holocaust didn't happen, then how can you claim Hitler killed so many Jews? That's exactly what the Holocaust is, Hitler's mass murder of the Jews."
The small man's lower jaw collapses. "Well... But... Cletus said... I... um..."
"You see sir, your beliefs don't make any sense."
"But... I... I... guess.... I guess... you're right," the last two words coming as his head falls.
"So you'll let us go?"
"Well, I guess I have to."

"Thanks." I pat him on the shoulder, wave for my student to come. She hasn't been listening. She sees my hand, perks up in amazement and races towards me. As I walk out of the door, I turn to the small man, who stands there, half the size he was two minutes before, and wink. I take my student's hand and we stride away from the shed, heads held high. "Do me a favor?" Her eyes stare with anticipation. "Don't joke around with Nazis anymore."

Best U.S. Presidents of the Decade

1) Barack Obama
2) Bill Clinton
3) George W. Bush


list-maker's note: This list is completely and totally objective!

Fight Day

I had work this morning, but overslept. It was a good thing because the streets were quickly covered with snow, so I decided not to go. That gave me more time to think about the fight between Jewish light welterweight Dmitriy Salita and WBA champion Amir Khan. I spent the day reading about dictators, pausing every few pages to walk around and release my nervous energy.

At 3pm, I went searching on the internet for a link to the fight. They came and went. It wasn't until 4pm that I got a good link. In the middle of the Mitchell - Prescott fight, the power flickered. It only affected the computer, which restarted. After a few minutes, I managed to get the link back.

In the build up to the bout, Salita looked loose and relaxed. He walked out to a Matisyahu song with a focused look and a mean beard. The introductions were made and I was pumped up for Salita.

A few seconds later, a combination, thrown with all of Khan's mite, landed just above Salita's lowered hands and on his face. My throat dropped into my stomach. My heart was numb. Salita got up and tried to avoid the oncoming barage. I screamed for him to hang on. He crumbled again. Salita rose once more. The first round clock crawled forward. Khan hit him squarely again. Salita fell again. The fight was over.

The NBA All Decade Team

C Shaquille O'Neal
PF Tim Duncan
SF LeBron James
SG Kobe Bryant
PG Jason Kidd

After A Hard Day

We all have our ways of relaxing after a tough day. Some prefer to toke one up, some have a beer, while others would rather snort meth off the ass of their gay prostitute (I'm not judging). Personally, I like to indulge in a Slurpee or two.

A Slurpee is especially called for after a visit to the dentist. I could use a Slurpee after learning about a suicide bomber murdering people at a graduation ceremony in Mogadishu. One is useful after hearing about an explosion of a bus carrying Iranian pilgrims visiting a Shi'a monument in Damascus, especially when the Syria government has the audacity to blame the explosion on a flat tire. And a Slurpee always helps me get over a Bills loss.

So you can imagine my frustration, no, anger, no, some combination of the two, with 7-Eleven's decision to institute skimpier Slurpee caps. The caps are no longer round and the top, but now cave in, preventing me from that extra bit of Slurpee goodness on after a hard day. Don't they realize that we're in a recession? Why deprive us of our enjoyment? That's pretty heartless. Not million dollar bonuses after we bailed your asses out, heartless. But heartless nonetheless.

Bring Home the Troops From Afghanistan

Sending more U.S. troops to Afghanistan is not a good strategy. Some argue that we need to "clean up Bush's mess." I won't even mention how paternalistic that is (See what I did there? That's a trick I picked up from Fox News). It assumes that adding more troops will somehow stabilize Afghanistan. It assumes that Bush brought war to that war-ravaged nation. It fails to put this latest phase of the war in Afghanistan into context.

Afghanistan has never been a "country" in the way the United States is one, with a government providing for every corner of the nation-state. Don't give me that bullshit about King Zahir Shah. He couldn't control the disparate population of Afghanistan if you gave him another 40 years as the nominal head of state!

Let's forget the fact that Great Britain, the Soviet Union, and every other historical power you can name couldn't control Afghanistan; Afghanis (with actual legitimacy) haven't even stood a chance! Even when the Taliban captured 90% of the country before the American invasion, they held very little de facto control. Sure, they enforced some outrageous laws in some high-profile places, but let's give the Afghan population some credit. The Taliban did not and will never truly rule over the majority of Afghanistan. They have some pull in the south of the country and the U.S. occupation has done nothing to diminish the Taliban's popularity in the Pashtun heartland. But most people in Herat and Kabul will always resent their presence. In Hazarajat and in the north, the Taliban will always be mortal enemies. There shouldn't be much concern that the Taliban will sweep through the country if and when the U.S. leaves.

Afghanis have been fighting since the late 1970s, and no one has been able to set up anything resembling a functioning government. Perhaps, least of all, Hamid "The Election Stealer" Karzai and his band of corrupt cohorts. They are the U.S. allies right now. If, by some miracle, the U.S. is able to create a stable and secure Afghanistan, it is these frauds that will run Afghanistan's future. Seems pretty futile, doesn't it?

There is a big concern that, if Afghanistan crumbles (it hasn't already? Then what do you call the last 30 years?), Pakistan (a nuclear state, we are constantly reminded) will follow. The problem is that virtually everyone in Pakistan hates the U.S. and every action it takes. As a result, the population tends to support the force opposing the U.S. regardless of its ideology. If the U.S. were to leave, it's clear Pakistanis would disavow the various Talibans, neo-Talibans, and post-modern Talibans. If you haven't noticed, Pakistanis aren't big fans of foreigners operating militarily within their sovereignty. And what are al Qaeda and the Afghan Taliban? Foreigners. They're just "less" foreign than the U.S. And if the Pakistan Taliban did attempt another foray towards grabbing power in Islamabad, they should just remember that it didn't work out too well for them the first time.


To sum up: Let the Afghanis control their own destiny, especially since the U.S. can't be anything more than a band-aid on the swine flu. If the U.S. withdraws, it would likely increase the Pakistanis resolve to fight certain radical groups, because those groups would no longer serve their purpose as anti-U.S. (and, really, anti-Karzai - because the Pakistani military has always viewed Karzai as nothing more than an Indian proxy) forces. (more at International Affairs Edition)

Depressing News

It has happened before in my life where some event has induced a precipitous descent into depression. It's happened again. One thought has implanted itself in my mind and will not vacate under any circumstances. It consumes me.

I can no longer eat. Sleep is but a battle with the bed, tossing and turning, trying to get this thought out of my head. But I can't. I must know- what happened with Tiger Woods and that accident? It's all I think about. Was he cheating on his wife with that New York party girl as the National Enquirer has suggested? Why was he leaving his driveway at 2:25 on Friday morning? Was he getting gas or a Slurpee? Those are the only reasons why I leave the house at that hour. Well, not any more. Nowadays, I'm crouched in the corner of my room naked rocking back and forth trying to sort out the missing pieces of this accident.

Maybe he was on Ambien. I heard people sometimes start sleep-driving when they take it, like the Kennedy who confuses shouting with oration. Speaking of which, I could use an Ambien. Google News doesn't update fast enough. The cable news channels aren't telling me anything new. Maybe I'll spend another 4 hours crying. Staring into a bottle of Tiger Woods flavored Gatorade for an hour and 45 minutes hasn't yielded any answers.

I haven't gone to work since the accident. I constantly urinate on myself, too down to lift myself up and drag it to the toilet. Curled up in my bed, a vision of Tiger Woods in a college hoodie with the bottom folded up to show off his tight jeans seems to fill the black of my closed eye lids every night. He slowly takes off his hoodie to reveal a pink tank top and... well... it gets really weird after that, so I'll stop.

I hope he tells us something soon or else I'll have to consider suicide for the first time since that balloon boy thing.