My Happy Jewish Afterlife

I believe the liberation of my people from death camps in Germany is proof God exists. And how the existence of Roger Waters proves there’s us and whinier, British malcontents who wish White Walkers could’ve finished the job on their behalf.

My Hebrew School failed in teaching us about the concept of an alluded to afterlife. Consisting of a place above with glow enshrouded souls, giddy with delight over not having to futz with going to the dry cleaners ever again. Feeling cleansed of all penetrable jealousies emanating from your Aussie brother in law for not being confused for Mel Brooks ever. Knowing he wasn’t chosen to be blessed with the funny Jew bone, nor made tough enough to endure goonish laugh producing periods of non-stop taunting despair, in the face of relentless imposed doubt from family members, friends, scuzzy sales bosses and joke sampled on strangers at large.

 

An Aussie brother in law whose only way to impress the opposite sex is by inserting his Aussie accent of old before moving to Delaware with his family, in the place of any semblance of personality to showcase at all. An Aussie brother in law who will never know what it feels like to unearth comedy gold, only after decades of digging for it within the deepest pits of your kvetching, rewriting righting soul.

Another way to ensure my funny man soul lives on is through reading the Old Testament this summer already. Getting closer to God will be a blast, further away from my aimless, MOJO rising not so much yet past. Ensuring my 3 kids, will possess a more intimate, heightened understanding behind the power of soul outside of blasting and puking their brains out in college to Jimi Hendrix’s blowing your mind with Power of Soul  on the Band of Gypsies, from killing floor, Fillmore East, New Years Eve show pasts.  I need to get familiar with my Torah like Abe Lincoln before me, if I plan to prove my worthiness to write Stay At Home Rabbi already. I’m thinking of pitching the book to Harper Collins and Rape Wood as Billy Madison meets Mr. Fantastic. Can I get a Hollah for some Challah? Because Adam Sandler isn’t the only true funny man, non-resistor Jew capable of bringing in big deal bread boyy!

The End,

By,

Michael Kornbluth

 

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