Chapter 26 Fucking Hipster Canadians

                                                       Chapter 26

Fucking Hipster Canadians

The only time Joshua ever got into real trouble with his parents was during a family trip to Montreal, when he insisted on sending his younger brother back to the hotel in a cab, so he could pass out on top some bushy Canadian’s girls’ mountain of muff, unable to get it up for some boom, boom because of all the strip club day drinking prior, before those high octane Canadian Labatt Blues came back to knock him on his ass, after maintaining the same rock steady, pounding pace at the dance club soon after. Joshua had attended Ithaca College, in Upstate, NY, otherwise known as Cornell’s retarded next door neighbor, located only a 4 hour drive from the Canadian border. So, he spent many weekend getaways in Montreal with his college buds to wreck more brain cells and feel more retarded than usual, tearing through an eighth of outdoor Tompkins Country weed every other 3 days wasn’t helping. If Joshua could do it all over again, he’d bribe the DJ at the strip club in Montreal with a 50 spot, so he could play the 20 minute version of the Allman’s Brother’s Whipping Post from the their famed Filmore East show, so he could maximize his erect, arousal, one lap dance per song moment for all it was worth like any good, shrewd, predatory Jewish New Yorker, not bright enough to pass the Series 7 to become a Investment Banker would. Joshua was never obsessed with getting lap dances from strippers, but clear memories of blowing off his homework in the 9th grade to watch the Cherry Pie video on MTV, the VHS Kiss doc, Exposed with lead singer and songwriter Paul Stanley, philosophizing on the art of being playmate bedding rock star on a bed flush with nothing but perfect busty tens. In addition to endless repeat showings of the equally titillating, Motley Crue doc, Uncensored, including plenty of clips from the their slickest, most arousing, rock star affirming video, Girls, Girls, which takes place in the actual strip club on the Sunset Strip, where Joshua used to lived down the street among the more homoerotic, rent controlled land of boys town in West Hollywood, didn’t discourage Joshua to seek out the occasional lap dance of a glittery, stripper’s embrace, before he got married, if he had the money burn, one bit.

But Montreal wasn’t all about the icy, cracked out looking, vixen, strippers for Joshua. Because he loved his out of nowhere, fluffy, thick, succulent, locally sourced, in retrospect, Canadian ham loaded Omelette at some random greasy spoon diner, giving him more long lasting joy than any fleeting, blue balls destined, lap dance, assuming he was wearing jeans and not sweat pants. Joshua also learned during a trip to Montreal hungover the next morning again, how the French Canadian’s just don’t serve you a regular egg and cheese sandwich there. Instead, they’ll throw in some tasty baby spinach greens, on top a mayo slathered Croissant, if you weren’t eating pork again, which Joshua wasn’t because some psychic in LA prior told him his Chakras were more clogged than his freshman one hitter. The same psychic who Joshua paid in what felt like the entirety of his inherited Pfizer stock from his Jewish Grandmother on his dad’s side, insisted Joshua abstain from pork and beer for a 30 day purification period. Joshua wasn’t complaining about the final results, looking slim and trim doing something more constructive with his time than binge like DMX before he got into character at the recording studio that day, to rap, “ I’m slipping, falling and can’t get up.” At the same time, Joshua will never forget about how he relished his In and Out Burgers in LA, animal style, which is twice the cheese, twice the patties, on top of their specialty, never burnt, French onion, syrupy sweet, fried onions nestled between their buttered, specialty sauce slathered buns. Actually, Joshua had an old high school bud, another groomsmen at his wedding who visited him in LA during a work week, so he just drove Joshua to and from work, while smoking plenty of primo icky, sticky, California loving weed, from his contact in the valley, when he wasn’t revisiting In and Out, on back to back to back days, winning the tubby bitch, trifecta, New York style. Also, Joshua will never forget how delectable scrumptious, his behemoth of a triple cheesed burger was, which disintegrated into his mouth at such a man meant to eat meat, in what one felt like an extended, never tasted so wholesome bloody bite from the infamous dead cows hanging in the window entrance chain from Fuddruckers in Palo Alto with his ex, to celebrate the completion of his 1st purification feast.

When living in stroller mom central in Park Slope, with his girlfriend now wife, Anna, he couldn’t resist the idolized worship of thick cut, Applewood country, smoked crisp Bacon served at all the various, overpriced, never sexy enough for his standards, brunch spots sprinkled throughout the Brooklyn enclave, referred to famed novelist turned boxing Journalist Norman Mailer, “as the most secure place” for a Jew to live on our planet earth. Still, Joshua growing up in a Kosher household always felt a tad uncomfortable frying up any piggy in their apartment, which still didn’t stop him from throwing a12 inch Kielbasa on the grill in their garden outback, from the drab, bare bones, stuck in 1940, utterly colorless and humorless, Ukrainian meat shop on 4th avenue, only a 2 avenue stroll down hill one bit either. And when Joshua went on the Kornbluth family European vacation in college with his parents and younger brother to Italy, which included stops along the Amalfi Coast in Italy, right off the mighty Mediterranean coast, he wasn’t kvetching about breaking God’s commanded law to not eat pork, as he suckled down one more mound of svelte, Prosciutto di Parma with more fresh, crackling sesame loaded, Italian bread with bits of semi-hard, mind blowing fresh, put hair on your chest provolone either.

But now Joshua was 43 going on 44, eating kosher and getting closer to God every day, yeah, yeah. So giving 2 shits about projecting any cool man foodie, over the hill Park Slope hipster cred among other piggling sucking, bearded hobbits, to conceal their dropping neck fat, in their best Paul Bunion gear, held out less appeal for him than liking and encouraging more pics of Lena’s Dunham’s frumpy, let it all hang look on Instagram. These were type of thoughts swirling in Joshua’s head, as he took in the dinning scene at Mile End in Boerum Hill, Brooklyn, waiting to meet with the Rabbi’s much touted brew master genius Schmendel any minute. Losing patience with Schmendel, Joshua decides to start ordering at the counter but has some questions first. “Hi, the smoked meat Montreal Pastrami sandwich on Jewish rye is Kosher, right? The lady behind the counter with decked out tattoos hanging on for dear life off her droopy, too cool for school flabby arms says with immediate repulsive, disgust, “No, we don’t serve Dr. Browns cream soda or offer complimentary Kosher spear dill pickles either.” Joshua barks back with menacing, pissed off, slightly disproportionate in return fury, “But you’re a Sunday Morning Bacon Jew, who believes only wolfing down more locally soured bacon on top of your fucking fries and poutine, makes you the more progressive, evolved, Jew. Who watched the Daily Show with religious devotion throughout your time at McGill, so you’re too sophisticated to ever identify yourself as a mere religious, old school, easily duped, observant, proud Jew, got it, flaps.” The cashier burns a death stare through Joshua’s swelling, noggin and screams, “Get the fuck out our store. You’re banned, permanently, no smoked Canadian meat for you.” Joshua begins to leave and fires back one last time with, “I was already leaving. Good luck finding a reformed Jewish cemetery plot big enough, to wheel barrel your fat ass into the ground, frumps. Fucking Canadian Hipster Jews are off the list.”



The Cape Cod Interloper

Chapter 19

The Cape Cod Interloper

Joshua was never intimidated by wealth or overly impressed with Ivy league degrees, mainly because he knew at least 4 kids who got into Harvard out of his high school graduating class of 99 students, and the 4th kid, mush mouth, Sanket Bulsara, only got in through class petition only, despite him boasting the lumbering, personality of a sinus challenged Mr. Snuffleupagus. Al Gore, another Harvard Alum, couldn’t even beat W by a wide margin because he couldn’t even be bothered to project an aura of patriotic, God loving sincerity without barreling into his portly yet pretty faced wife for a kiss more at the Democratic National convention more forced than Michelle Obama’s befuddled look of appreciation after Melania gave her a beautiful, turquoise, Tiffany gift box at the White House on Inauguration day with the number of her hair stylist inside, considering she couldn’t even bothered to have her army of 5 stylists, prop up her hair, regardless of her no longer being proud of her country or not.

It wasn’t until Joshua attended the wealthy enclave of Lake Forrest College, on the North Shore Illinois, until he was in the presence of real descendant wealth. All his friends, there either attended private schools in Honolulu, Manhattan or in boarding schools back east in Connecticut or the Berkshires, which boasts more rehab centers per square foot, than Portlandia has safe spaces for shooting up heroin or even Lens Crafters for that matter, knowing how slamming high octane, IPA’s at 8 percent in rapid succession will put strain on any four eyed hipster’s eyes trying to make out the chalkboard written specials for fried Kale Pickles that tames the smokiness of Rogue’s Shakespeare Stout on tap better than you think. In college, he learned his Hawaiian roommate for 2 years there attended Punahou on the big island of Hawaii, which Obama attended prior. In his act Joshua would dare to make the fun of the hopeful one, insisting, “Obama renamed ISIS, ISIL, so they’d sound more startup friendly in the NY Times. So that’s an Obama accomplishment for you. Also, if Obama is such a good baller at Basketball. Then, why did her ride the bench an all Asian private school in Hawaii. Last, did you most Americans think Obama a was a better president than George Washington. But I don’t see good old Georgie gifting Iran 150 billion dollars out of the freaking blue with nothing but power of his phone and pen, for more overseas manufacturing jobs for Build A Bear, to make their economy less reliant on the sale of hair removal products for the Kardashians. Kim Kardashian will be taking the bar soon to become a criminal justice lawyer. Criminal Justice Lawyers are so hot right now. Also, Bruce Jenner wasn’t asexual when he was married to Kris Jenner, but I’m sure he stayed harder longer, after he got Kris to cut her short eventually, so she’d look more like a dolled-up Ralph Macchio.”

Joshua’s friend Cling, another boarding school kid, who was total preppy stoner, who knew how to use his fists, worked as chef in Nantucket for the summer, so he was never hurting for cash either. Paone, who also loved Dice, attended a private school in St. Louis, who never met a Birkenstock’s he didn’t like or the even more well-off Pam who rode equestrian horses out of the freaking womb. Joshua did have a friend Jim, who was from Wisconsin, who didn’t drip inherited wealth compared to his other buds but in retrospect, could’ve easily attended some prestigious, private, Catholic school there, knowing he wasn’t enough of a Brainiac to get into Lake Forrest on a full scholarship, but was literate enough know hair metal shredder’s White Lion, were at their core, a Christian metal band, citing lyrics, which proved his assertion and everything, which made hair metal crooning loving Joshua feel like a bigger, degenerate, spiritual bankrupt, clueless Jew than before.

Joshua also had spent the one summer in Chatham, in Cape Code, Kennedy country, during his 1st summer of self-reliant independence after his sophomore year of college, paying his own way, outside of the leased, Forrest Green Grand Cherokee, his parents decided to lease him out of the freaking blue. Joshua loved blasting I Found A True Love by man and half Wilson Pickett in that car, especially the part, where he can’t contain his sheer electric state of ecstatic rapture, declaring with the utmost pride and loving tender satisfaction, “I can shout about her, yeah, yeah.” Because after Joshua made his 1st ever big time hook up request of God off the sandy white shores of Cape Cod by his lonesome, heart reeling self, stating, “God, I need a romance of some kind already God. Please, thrown me a bone already, I’m dying over here.” Only days, later, the original striking beauty in his life, Katie King, glided into his heart in one beautiful seamless motion, as her silky, smooth, blond straight hair draped over his muscular yet feminine shoulders, looking the most statuesque southern beauty imaginable, with sultry, rounded lips, who was a double major at Duke University, the Harvard of the south, who could kick the shit out of Reese Whitherspoon during a debutant spelling bee in the 9th grade guaranteed. Joshua was rocking his semi long, fluffy long haired look, practicing a guitar chord his friend Sam just taught, him as she entered the back patio of Skyler’s parents house who had a beer delivery man who came twice a week, including Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, the pale ale that never gets stale, Harpoon IPA, Pete’s Wicket summer brew, you name it. Actually, back then in the summer of 96, there were only a handful of specialty craft, breweries, which Joshua became intent on sucking down with divine commandment commanded fervor. This didn’t please Joshua’s stiffy snot roommate from Williams College, an athletic, tall, waspy, blond haired 6 by east coast liberal arts standards, would introduce him to casual forms of Anti-Semitism, dropping lines such as “Take your banged up Jeep and go back to New York already.” Translation, Jews aren’t welcome in Cape Cod Kennedy country moron. She also expressed her disdain for Joshua drinking the lion share of the beers despite them remaining untouched by the 4 other housemates, Joshua was rooming with temporarily at Skyler’s parents house for one free month, before they all moved into another house, they’d all contribute rent for that summer. Joshua was doing his drunk hand thing with Katie, where he starts touching a girls hand without being intentional or predatory about it, as he could feel the collective gentile gaze look of abject horror despair among his other female roommates also who attended McGill College, up in Montreal, as they thought, “Who does big head Jew, think he is, flirting with such a ravishing, southern belle beauty in our midst like he’s fucking Jeff Goldblum crushing on Laura Dern in Jurassic Park for Christ sake. Reality is Katie was way hotter, prettier, sculpted, towering blonde dame than Laura Dern, considering the fact Katie’s mom was Miss South Carolina for a reason. Then, out of nowhere, when Joshua wasn’t sending tingles of sparkly summer love through tips of Katies’ classical pianist trained, beautifully elongated, strong tan fingertips, the Williams Wasp hits him with, “Put the beer down already. Haven’t you had enough already? There’s 5 other people who live here you know. Translation again, “You don’t belong here, you grubby, greedy, lushy Jew.” Still, Joshua got the last laugh, because his summer romance with Katie bloomed, and his friend Sam from Lake Forrest, found him a cheap room at this older ladies house off the main drag of Chatham, as he spend the majority of his nights in Katies’ arms in her spacious, air apartment way closer the beach with her cute, feisty, southern fierce smart, roommate Briana who chose to forsake AC for the topless bra look whenever he was around. God couldn’t have made Joshua a bigger believer in his divine powered giving grace, by ushering Katie King into his heart during the summer Fugees hit the airwaves, to wash away any remnant of heart beaten scare tissue for being a sad, single romantic, lost at sea prior, which was killing him loudly more than ever before. Joshua and Katie were love birds; his heart had finally taken flight to heaven on earth. The could kiss for hours, held hands in town instantly, even compelling his own mother to comment after they took them out to dinner once, saying, “Son, seeing you with Katie, blissfully in love, put me at ease, making me think my son will be ok after all.” Although the real show topping highlight during the Summer of Katie was his southern belle angel, tell her sweet Joshua, “I love how happy you make me feel.” Joshua felt the same because thanks to God, answering his 1st , big time favor ask prayer, he could shout about her, yeah, yeah.