My wife’s maiden name is Duffy. Before we got married, a bartender takes a look at her card and says, “Duffy, that’s my last name.” I said, “You should open up a bar together and live happily ever after then”. Holla, thank you very much.
I still can’t forgive my in-laws for admitting they didn’t care for the movie Inglorious Bastards, especially knowing how they bolted to see Apocalypto opening weekend. After booking IMAX reserve seating on Fandango, 6 million months in advance.
One year for Thanksgiving, I’m going to give grace in front of them in Hebrew and say, “God please forgive my in-laws for not caring for the movie Inglorious Bastards. Personally, I don’t know what ending they’d prefer. At same time, they insist on sucking off the alleged goodness of Obama Be Good till their last dying breath. And Obama is the one who loves Hitler. Obama wishes he was that organized. For Obama, exterminating all those beady eyed, plague carrying, horn concealing, endlessly nasal Jews in the media who questioned his nuke gifting parting gift to Iran, who refuses Israel’s right to exist, would be gas. Inglorious Bastards got a 11 minute standing ovation at Cannes, for Christ sake. And it wasn’t because Donny Donowitz bashed the Nazi’s head in with a Matzah ball soup ladle instead. Explain to me Lord, if my in-laws are so smitten with your chosen people, then how could they ever feel remotely offended from the movie Inglorious Bastards? The film was marketed as a Nazi revenge film. Were my in-laws hoping a German submarine, cruise ship transformer would whisk Hitler and his SS generals away on gestapo grade Crystal meth to Argentina to live happily ever after, under the FBI’s new witness protection program reserved only for the master race mafia? Only for the Fuhrer to spend his golden years working on his tan in Argentina, sucking down Malbec on more Gestapo grade crystal meth, responsible for getting those sick, Nazi bastards high enough to think they could conquer all of Europe on it. Were my in-laws rooting for Hitler to escape the burning French film house, only to die at the ripe age of 95 under a peach tree in Argentina, as he penned more hate mail to Madonna for embracing Kabbalah instead of making music videos with more burning crosses in them instead. It’s too bad Tarantino didn’t rewrite the ending to Inglorious Bastards to showcase an aging Hitler die under a peach tree, picking at his old herpes sores under his stash, inflaming his desire to exterminate any reminder of that Jew bitch prostitute who gave him herpes because he was dumb enough to go down on a prosttiute to put his mother mouth on Crystal Meth to work, as Hitler youth whiz around the foothills of the Andes mountains, carving out adorable little Swatsikas onto any non marked up Pine trees remaining, dreaming of asking George Soros to hook them up with more signed copies of Hitler’s Mein Kampf for Christmas, because they blame the Jewish descendants of Don Rickles for heckling the Romans into crucifying, the original super Jew, Jesus Christ to death. Did my in-laws think the Marshall Plan, and Nuremberg trials was enough punishment for the Nazi Bastards already? Was Schindler’s List’s running time of 3 hours and 15 minutes a tad overkill for their taste to?”