![]() ![]() You've heard all this Jewish angst shit dozens of times before from Bellow and Updike. Just give me a break from her constant "Why don't you become a doctor, get married and give me grandchildren?" My father. Why do Jews love that saga shit? My mother. All that pointless Rosh Hashannah nonsense. You think I'm self-hating? Whew! Just wait to find out how many grievances I've really got. Would psychoanalysis even exist without the Jews? Every goddamn hang up, we Jews have them worse than everyone else. Did that make a difference, doctor? Or was it my father shtupping the shiksa from work? Who knows? This, I suppose, is the material. We moved to a Jewish neighbourhood in Newark when I was eight. "He's doing something unspeakable." She knows. "I need to go." "I've got diarrhoea," I yell back. I tried to cut down to 17 sessions a day, to save it snapping off or getting cancer, but it had a life of its own. "Come and give me all you've got," the neighbour's cat whispered. Half my daily life spent firing my wad down the toilet, into my fat elder sister's brassière, anywhere. "How can you love me if you leave that bagel?" she would holler. ![]() She held my penis when I needed a wee - God help me, I still can't go unless she's around and I'm 33 now - and she tried to make me eat. As far as the goyim and the schwartzes were concerned he was just some dreck Yid. He'd go to work each day selling insurance in the slums, but no one cared. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |