Listening to Steve Perry’s new album on Spotify this morning made feel like the eunuch sentimentalist in Game of Thrones. But why am I so hurried desperate to relink with my age of innocence again? Granted, anyone who remains a stay-at-home dad on purpose wants to remain a eunuch for the time being. At the same time, why do cocksure heterosexual men or gender fluid shemale comedians like me feel compelled to deride some sappy sad downer power ballad songs as eunuch sentimentalist music at all? I think it’s because as we get older and get a tad more jaded around the edges of a broken heart, we don’t buy into the irrefutable, absolute truisms behind certain famous sing along lyrics by Chicago such as, “How can I go on?” How can I go on? Find a fresher, tighter snatch to fall in love with for starters, who doesn’t deride the workshopped over, comedic genius behind iconic, FX shows such as Rescue Me as being merely sexist. Just because a bunch of hot chicks throw themselves at Dennis Leary’s fireman character, which isn’t a radical departure from reality considering the post 9/11 times it was made in. Understand, before 9/11, Firemen as a whole in New York were derided by the NYPD as mere cat tree snatchers, burnt out line cooks or Magic Mike wannabes. 9/11 changed all that. That’s why DeBlasio shooting down the Freedom Tower tribute ceremony this past year over alleged COVID concerns was ridiculously stupid. Because out of the blue, I don’t think 9/11 1st responders were sweating the prospect of catching an itchy esophagus. Now, regardless of the NYPD being defunded or not, they’ve lost the moral high ground over New York City Fireman, since every day now for the cops is standing down day. Cops in NY have so much free time on their hands now, they’re the ones taking how to make ravioli from scratch classes at the 92 St. Y. Cops who insist on taking a knee today proves how undercover cops who haven’t retired yet prematurely from the force are still down with wearing Nike sweats no matter what.
But momentous, hair standing on the back of your neck tingly songs like the Flame by Cheap Trick still sway my heart toward more promise filled tomorrows than any shitty, melodic free rap song by Nipsey Hussle ever could, which is a testament to the timeless appeal behind emotive, heartfelt, male articulated lyrics man. Versus most radio friendly rap songs both old and new, which deride woman interested in riding a rapper’s joystick out of its socket as mere money grubbing, stupid ass, over the hill hos. Sebastian Bach, original lead singer of Skid Row claims only teenage girls bought their debut record because of their monster rock ballad hit, I Remember you. So, you’re a twinkle toe bitch boy for pretending you bought the debut record Skid Row to hear Big Guns and Rattle Snake Shake again and again, otherwise. Reality is though, the soaring guitar solo in I Remember You, is exalted high end heartfelt rock at its finest. That sounds even more kick ass melodic special over time, because it’s my eunuch sentimentalist music, that came out in my time, when I didn’t even hit puberty yet, let alone have a clue on how to exert my manhood if it finally bloomed under my Fruit of the Looms after feeling like the last kid to enter the puberty party in school. But that’s ok, because I grew a sack eventually, and some hair on it to or else I never would’ve dared to make it through my never ending pain period as a cold calling IT agency headhunter at 22 in LA, a long, long, way from home nor would’ve I ever contemplated trying open mike standup at the Rainbow Lounge on Sunset, where Hair Metal sleaze incarnate Ratt once reigned supreme, getting endless perfect tens to let their bodies do their talking for them. I also wouldn’t have hit on my future wife and mother of my 3 pitch perfect sounding kids after hitting on 3 other girls prior with relentless, horn dog crazed, wheel and deal zeal without the power ballad soundtrack of my youth pulsating through my on with the show heart.
So why are underlying hopeful power ballads that prove men are capable of being deeper than the eighteenth hole considered soft core girly again? Men in long hair and makeup back in the seventies and eighties singing songs starting with Barry Manilow didn’t counterbalance that perception one bit. Meanwhile, Ronnie Van Zandt sang Free Bird, which was considered an original power ballad of its day and he’d make Neil Young his Canadian cunt in the can without breaking a sweat while yelling, “More shriekish wailing Young. I’m not buying you being whipped on a southern man being all free and up in your jail bird ass just yet.”
Power Ballads are considered soft girly because most men are too chicken shit to spill their innards out to a woman in person let alone on wax after a record company fronts them 200,000 thousand dollars to make it for millions to hear. Power Ballads will always woo because they burst with romantic longing for more hopeful filled tomorrows, which hold out the promise of soothing the tissue torn teen hearts in us all, especially among us gun shy dudes plagued by our frozen with fear pasts. But I don’t buy for minute the horseshit premise which insists that the era of Internet porn on demand, flush with tatted out white girls on Crystal meth has completely stripped our need for the comforting lift, that great power ballads provide us all. Hair Metal Nation on Sirus Radio doesn’t exist without the power ballad hits, that never lost the pull they have on Gen X guys and gals because it’s Eunuch sentimentalist music that hit big in our hearts in our time, it belongs to us, and nobody can ever take that away from WE. Also, when we all fell in love with the soft, soothing sounds of 9pm clock radio music by REO Speedwagon, we weren’t fixated on the singer or image from the video but on our aching, incomplete hearts, longing for a willing recipient of our love bursts already. Big tits are great, but they don’t overcompensate for an ok face or an even worse bitch laden, one note heart that fluctuates from softcore bitch to full-fledged, scowly cunt in a NY Minute.
What makes power ballads so powerful? Featherly light finger tapping by CC on Every Rose Has Its Thorn is great, no doubt. For me though, what makes power ballads so powerful, is the rousing, never say die attitude for giving love another shot with all you got like the late great Jani Lane from Warrant sings with such soul stirring feeling on Sometimes She Cries. Holding out the hope of more pregnant filled tomorrows is what makes power ballads pack some extra exalted, it’s not over yet asshole, oomph for me. Is it time to move past 14 yet? Not even close, because like the serially underrated Britney Foxx screeched back in the day with extra throaty, soul metal verve, “It’s a long way to love.” So don’t give up on your storybook romance life just yet. You dream the fuck on, until you make your new dreams to remember come true, or else love really does bite if you allow it to get into last lacerating lick and stop believing in your right to live a fulfilling life, flush with your own fair share of Heavy Metal highs to cherish forever. Save the week like Britney Foxx did. Hound down your innermost love. And never allow anyone the power to damper your special spark shine inside, that gives you more than a feeling. Boston lives. Thank you very much.
It’s hard to keep your calm when a robot kiosk at the Podiatrist office tells you to wear a mask before it takes your temperature. Granted, all Karen’s sound robotic because they’re devoid of any inclusive based emotion. But a virtue signaling, AI powered Karen is twice as annoying because it reminds you how real life Karen’s are glaringly devoid of self-correction and incapable of introspection to. AI Karen is twice as evil miserable throughout it’s woke-plagued circuit board existence because it’s embedded with Silicon Alley privilege, which get’s away with mass murder by censoring content promoting the highly effective use of hydroxychloroquine or large scale consumption of anti-oxidant rich, garlic clam pies from Lombardi’s on Spring Street, used to boost your immune system, which ensures the made in Wuhan virus doesn’t make you meet your maker prematurely.
Explain to me why I need to wear a mask around a Kiosk check in robot at the Podiatrist’s office again? Since when should I give a shit about Short Circuit being terminated? Also, how do you know I’m not vaccinated already AI Karen? Did you Google my name already to find out if I was banned from Twitter? For insisting Wuhan lab leak investigations have been suppressed by the Chinese more than the nation wide use of AquaFresh? You don’t have anything to live for anyway AI Karen. You work in the lobby of a podiatrist office. What’s the highlight of your day exactly? Dr. Archer footing the bill for Chipotle? If you were Elon Musk’s personal robot responsible for charging his 3 car garage full of Tesla’s whenever he’s away on business or just managing a Tesla loading dock along the Jersey Shore next to post modern woke guido nation, I’d feel like a semi-useful, high rolling robot through association for a change. But you’re still nothing more than a robotic pawn of the CDC AI Karen, while working for a Vineyard Vines sporting Podiatrist that’s not even based in Manhattan for that matter, but in Westchester Country down the street from George Soros no less. Unlike Brando, you were never programmed to be a real contender at anything. Last, being an AI Karen is worse than being a real life Karen showing up to a Target in Mount Kisco being looted on the 4th of July as a Burning Mask Party outside ensues while real life Karen’s BLM sticker tricked out Subaru goes up in flames like a Public Enemy video come to life in a NY nanosecond going viral. Are my microagressions computing yet AI Karen? Everyone should be participating in the burning mask party on July 4th, AI Karen robots included, I agree. And fuck Al Gore AI Karen. I don’t sweat global warming because Al Gore’s speaking career has cooled considerably. His wife’s rising levels of lingering belly fat would keep me up at night though. Especially if Al doesn’t want to get caught at a massage parlor again, despite him only requesting older happy enders, knowing he can’t be accused of promoting under age sex trafficking when a picture of Deep Fang’s loose lipped snatch proves she wasn’t yanked off the boat yesterday.
I’m buying myself the book The Uncensored History of 80’s Rock. Bookstore owner says, “Would you like to be put on our list?” I said, “Not yet. I’m just getting this gift for myself the way I filled out my own Father’s Day Card last year.”
Waiting for Joe Biden to deliver a flub free, unifying speech is like waiting for Hunter to give up blow for blow painting fulltime.
His old school cokehead buds miss the good old days, getting tweaked in townie bars next to their dealer in Wilmington, Delaware, only hearing last call from the bathroom stall, only to utter, “Where’s Hunter man?” Oh, yeah, he’s spewing his white priveledge seed all up in some stripper’s fake news roped off snatch in the Champagne Room where only the high roller hacks roam.”
Hunter Biden texts found in his forgotten laptop reveal he was not only banned from the Chateau Marmont but wasn’t allowed to gather any of his belongings. My brother is banned from Talking Stick Casino in Arizona yet Hunter makes little bro come off as a major slacker and serial underachiever in comparison.
At the chocolate shop in Ridgefield, CT, I say, “I’ll take 3 of those chocolates.” I don’t want to perpetuate my dad’s tradition of playing blatant overt favorites or they’ll suffer from a lifetime of lingering resentment that no amount of yoga, prayer, or weed edibles can expunge from the depths of their slighted, impossible to recover from souls.”
When your dad says out loud in front of you, “I don’t know how were related.” It means he treats you like sloppy seconds for a reason.
I got my dad a joint for us to smoke together in Arizona after it became legal there because I thought we could bond over the all-star review for my book, The Great American Jew Novel. Dad says, “Yeah, I’m going to smoke this with my friend Nat in Vegas instead. And pops wonders why I seek laughs from strangers for a living.
Megan Rapinoe is partnering with Victoria Secret, which is totally on brand move for them to make. Can’t wait to sample their new line of edible shin guards that taste like hairy fish sticks.
If Megan Rapinoe runs for President, what’s going to be her campaign slogan? Bring back the L Word To Netflix Obama, your are only hope.
Is the purple haired tom boy look even a real life type or just a cry for attention because Olympic Soccer carries less cultural oomph in America than Orlando’s Blooms archery tips?
When Megan Rapinoe refused to take a knee, what point was she trying to make again? Pussy hat wearing lesbos are down with licking Nike’s ass no matter what.
Did Megan Rapinoe ever accuse Kaepernick of sporting a fake news fro backstage at the ESPYS’s? Have you ever seen a bi-racial afro that large before? Slash tried to grow out his fro and it was a total flop. At the same time, fake news fro takes selfies with Linda Sarsour who supports genital mutilation through supporting Sharia Law and Chelsea Manning’s run for senate. That’s like wearing a mutilated clit on your fro bro.
Eli Manning is still a bigger pimp than Brady in my book. He ruined his shot at a perfect season. Giselle was a Victoria Secret Angel, big deal. Now, she’s like 80 in model years. Plus, her uppity lisp isn’t winning her any popularity contests over Tyra Banks either. And why doesn’t anyone praise Terry Bradshaw as the best quarterback ever? Nobody aired it like out Bradshaw. Fine, that much he shares in common with Brady. I’ll give you that much.
After Lebron James lost in the 1st round against the Suns, do you think Obama scurried down into his man cave in Martha’s Vineyard to tear through his private stash of Almond Joys, hid under a giant box of Duct Tape from Costco? Joan Rivers lives. Can I get a Challah, for not giving a shit if I offended you already, and if I did, then go woke yourself, holla; thank you very much.
Why isn’t Marv Albert lionized as a hero of the LGBT community? He had an affair with a retired Broadway Transgender dancer for a solid 15 years. Doesn’t that give him a leg up on the competition? Eddie Murphy getting caught picking up a Transgender prostitute on a lonely West Hollywood night is child’s play in comparison. Oscar De La Hoya got caught wearing woman’s lingerie, whoopty freaking-do. Del La Hoya was never canceled and had his career taken away during his prime because he liked to nosh on his sexual partners backside with extra relish on it. And there’s no way Marv Albert is capable of sexual assault on anything. He comes up to Spike Lee’s knee. If anyone is guilty of forced sodomy, it’s Spike Lee’s forced fed, media pushed narrative behind critical race theory and all lives matter being the new n word, burning up race relations faster than any Public Enemy video could, thank you very much.
Imagine Marv Albert doing play by play for Drag Queen Reading Hour. Drag Queen says, “Who wants to be a Drag Queen when they grow up?” And Marv Albert says, “We’ve entered serious garbage time folks.” Dr. Seuss, she’s not. Is that an Amber Alert I hear? Another reason, not to encourage your kids to go way downtown. I live in Soho and know what danger lurks behind those dumpster alleys late at night, which isn’t the most spectacular move to make with no protection on your person, which is why even hotels in West Virginia have room service for a reason.” Holla, thank you very much.”
Did you know Ellen DeGeneres and George W. Bush are friends? I knew she was pro bush, but what do they do together exactly? Besides play Operation with Michelle Obama, gender reassignment edition? Watch Portia De Rossi squirm as W paints a portrait of her clit being hacked off in front of Michelle for Sharia Law Appreciation Month?
Portia De Rossi is from Australia like my wife. We wanted to get married there yet my mom shot it down. She calls, “Son, Australia, is a long flight from New York and your father doesn’t love you that much.” I console my wife later and say, “Assuming we have a boy one day, instead of hiring a Rabbi for the circumcision, we hire Crocodile Dundee. Just so we can hear a roomful of Jews say, “Now that’s a knife. You can chop it all off with that thing.”
Daughter asks, “Daddy, was Shakespeare transgender, because he’d dress up like a girl in all his plays? I said, “Back then, male actors played all the female parts because Kate Blanchet’s, great, great, great, grandmother was a but-her-face with no make up on to. So, I don’t know if Shakespeare was Transgender because the Bard of Avon also wrote, “Hanging perverts saved many a bad marriage”, because decoupling hadn’t gone viral yet. Plus, masturbation post #meto wasn’t declared man’s last safety rail left yet. Nor was sexting, Internet porn or dick picks devised back then either, which proved to be the death knell of small talk in this country and beyond, before tatted up white chicks on crystal meth ruined the golden age of muff diving forever. But I do know for a fact that Kevin Spacy bought the Old Vic playhouse in London because backstage the Academy Award winner is gay about lunging at Othello in tights.
If my son played with dolls, I’d tell him to triple wrap his life blaster in the making in seaweed, before taking the deep dive into Polynesian Barbie.
Why is the transgender community so offended by the song Dude Looks Like a Lady? In the song, Steven Tyler takes more than a peek, proclaiming with surging lust, “Oh, what a funky lady, and I like, like it, yeah.” So did Richard Pryor, get over it already. He called it the best piece of pussy Bill Maher never had. Holla, thank you very much.
I’m breaking my Chic-fil-A strike if I see Transgender Father’s Day trend on Twitter again. Either you’re an involved father or you’re not, nipple tits. And stop acting like getting shafted is a new experience you’re closed to pursuing either.
I’m in favor of sexual expression but Drag Queen Reading Hour is a tad scary for our kids, don’t you think? Fluorescent lights don’t look flattering on anybody, let alone on a poor man’s Marilyn Manson impersonator. Also, if we’re going to be exposing our kids to Drag Queen Reading Hour and believe it’s not intended to groom our kids into pool time entertainment at John Podesta’s house, who showcases enough pedo installation art to make Marilyn Manson blush. Why not have a Drag Queen read a fable about buyer’s remorse after playing operation, gender reassignment edition called, The Missing Link? It’s a fable about a sexual awakening on the dance floor at the China Club. Where a horny, sexually repressed, 17-year-old kid from Westchester County reared on Lou Reed Records, desperately tries to his exert his presence behind stuck up Jenny From The Block but fails to flex his manhood up into her round of mound, because his missing link to old school, banging hip hop is gone baby gone.
At least our kids won’t be required to wear masks at the pool this summer, looking like Michael Jackson’s kids on holiday in Bahrain, who are being forced to identify with the Moderate Muslim Housewives of Manhattan.
This past morning, my wife asks me, “Can I go to sleep now, after working all night at the NICU?” I say, “Do we live under Sharia Law in this house? Of course, you can go to bed now, but not until I titty blast you with this bomb strapped to your chest 1st.” Andy Kaufman lives. Thank you very much.
Waiting for Biden to condemn violent attacks against Jews in the name of Palestinian terrorism. Is like waiting for Jill Biden to give Kwanza shout outs on Twitter, without Kamala Harris accusing of her cultural appropriation 1st. Holla, thank you very much.
The Teddy Roosevelt estate was afraid to accuse DMX of cultural appropriation for reimagining the Rough Rider name while thugging it up for all it was worth, in hit raps songs such as, “Pit Bulls don’t Do Gentrification.” Gentrification you know, liberal talk for less black people. Yesterday, I drive past Yankee Stadium on the Deegan and say to my daughter, “Look Matilda, the new Yankee Stadium, the House That Gentrification Built.” Daughter asks, “What’s gentrification?” I say, “Liberal talk for no plummeting apartment appraisal values since Neil and Bob opened a multi level, gay gastro pub dance club called Hip Hops. Where banging brews and banging buds meet to rum shaker the night away to old school hip hop beats. Holla, thank you very much.
Getting checked out at Kohl’s, worker there says, “Do you have any coupons?” I say, “No, I’m not ready to identify with being a Stay At Home Shemale Comedian just yet. I need to market my book The Koshertarian Comedian in the hope of hunting down any talent agent left capable of locating their ball sack again on my behalf. Kohl worker laughs long time. Thank you very much.
I’m getting copies of new keys. The locksmith asks in apologetic fashion, “If you don’t mind, can I see your ID for the mail key?” I said, “No problem. We already let ISIS vote in our country without ID. So what difference does it make? Hillary Hammer Time Cankles lives holla. Thank you very much. I add, “Why is asking a Latino for ID racist?” Do Latino’s have to pass a new height requirement, I’m not aware about? If I get pissed from someone asking for my ID, it’s at Target whenever I’m buying beer with my 3 kids, which makes me feel like a teen dropout mom from Tallahassee. After getting asked for my ID, I want to change my job title on LinkedIn, To Crystal Meth Homemaker. I need to get over it because a teen dropout mom from Tallahassee is more likely to buy cases of Coors Light instead of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, the pale ale that never get’s stale. Personally, I wish they’d make a Toothpaste that tastes like Coors Light already, so I don’t taste anything afterwards. Holla, thank you very much.
I actually gave up drinking beer last summer. It got embarrassing spending so much time hungover, recycling, empty reminders of my lush littered past, as entire Rock Marathons on AMC passed me by.
The robot at Stop and Shop is scary. I tell my son, “Don’t make fun of Lebron or he’ll report you to China.” Holla, thank you very much.
I don’t think Lebron ever got the Trump voiced GPS system. On your left is Mohegan Sun, Elizabeth Warren’s home away from home.
Shocked Lebron thinks Steph Curry should win the MVP over the Serbian big man averaging 26.4 points per game in addition to 10 plus boards and eight assists per game for Denver, almost pulling off an Oscar Robinson triple double average all season long. It’s a good thing Nikola Jokic never told a reporter during All-Star weekend, All Lives Matters, is the new n word. Or else we’d really have to really hear what terrorist siding black supremacists in the NBA really think, Kyrie Irving included. They don’t have a statue of him in China yet, do they? Holla, thank you very much.
Kyrie Irving’s ball handling skills have no equal. Too bad Kyrie has zero balls when it comes to defending the real victims of unjustified hate like Israeli kids kidnapped and killed in death tunnels by you know who. But it takes real balls to use big words like “dehumanize” to sound like Lebron 2.0, jerkoff. Also, I thought you never talk to journalists unless the questions are received in advance like Obama’s gym socket puppet. But now you care about the welfare of Palestinian terrorists in charge, hellbent on wiping Israel off the planet. I wonder why.
If I can’t get a lit agent for my book The Koshertarian Comedian or The Great American Jew Novel or from Waste Height, Really Short Stories, I’m going skip declaring bankruptcy. I’ll just take up fentanyl like George Floyd and stick up a pregnant woman with a fake news gun to score some counterfeit bills to buy some smokes at 711 before resisting arrest from the cops in hot pursuit, only to die from cardiac arrest, knowing at least then, Kyrie Irving would pay off the mortgage on my family’s house while Lebron could pay for my kids’ college on the down low. Holla, thank you very much.
It’s hard to keep your mouth shut when you spot a middle-aged white woman sporting a tie dye shirt that says Biden and Harris on it, days after the current administration in charge freed up 200 million for Hamas to finance a rocket launch party into Israel’s backyard for old time’s sake. First, I threw off the Karen and say, “Nice shirt”, duping her into thinking, I’m on her Jihadi jerkoff siding side. Next, I add, “Giving 200 million to Hamas to kill more Jews was totally done in the spirit of peace and love babe. I don’t know about you, but I’m sure team Biden calling for a ceasefire behind closed doors is really singing, “All we are saying United Nations, is give more money to Hamas to help wipe Israel off the map. So, they have a fighting chance. Holla, thank you very much.
AP news was slammed for claiming it was unaware of Hamas occupying an office in their building. Weren’t chants of fuck Madonna’s camel toe snatch during casual Friday or playing like Virgin on repeat after introducing office Karaoke on ironic causal Fridays or no female HR managers on site to fend off headhunters trying to recruit talent for Al Qaeda all dead giveaways already?
Never understood the fantasy of bedding 72 virgins. Doesn’t Jihadi John have enough blood on his hands already? Finally, Jihadi John arrives at a Motel 6 in virgin heaven allegedly. Virgin number one reveals herself to be a highly grating annoying Arabic version of Joy Behar. Booger face starts to demask and screeches, “Don’t you have enough blood on your hands already? Forget it, just whip out your skewer stick and get it over with already. But for what it’s worth, I just cleaned the sheets. So, let’s put that towel on your head to good use for a change. Oh, that’s right, your people aren’t into praising Downy fabric softener because it’s advertised as snuggle soft by some soft Jewish copywriter on Madison Avenue. Who prefers dead Palestinian babies over Haitian ones for blood cooking ceremonies if Hillary isn’t around to pressure the push over putz breath otherwise.” Hillary Hammer Time Cankles lives. Holla, thank you very much.
Whenever anyone defends Hamas launching more rockets at civilians in Israel, just call them atheist grave robbers. Yeah, you, you’re an atheist grave robber. You suck off dwarfs like Fuck Face Fauci who play God, so you don’t believe in the Book of Revelation or give 2 shits about sparking the wrath of Hashem for worshipping fake news idols. So go woke yourself, atheist grave robber. Holla, thank you very much.
Daughter always asks, “Daddy, what do you do after tucking me in.” I’ll sound incredibly cagy and reply, “I squeeze in some me time alright.”
A Karen approaches me at Costco and says, “Wear the mask.” And I say, “Not until you suck the white privilege out of my chosen schlong 1st. I’ll make it easier for you Karen. Just pretend Obama ordered you to leak it. Ricky Schroder lives. Holla, thank you very much.
I text my mom photographed images from my 9 year old daughter’s report on the Holocaust called The Terror Of The Holocaust, which included a plethora of killer subtitle headers to, such as A Terrible Form Of Hate, Monster In Charge and Don’t Blame Us! And I add the killer one liner for the ages, “Don’t post the report on Facebook or else Hamas will accuse you of hate speech.” Holla, thank you very much.”
Biden is sending new aid to aid Palestinians since AOC served Andrew Yang’s balls to him in a Mai Tai on the rocks.
Fuck nuance. Palestinians elected terrorists in charge. The only difference between Palestine and America is that we didn’t elect a terrorist enabling scumbag to cut Palestine a blank check to finance non-stop terrorism against Israel as long as members of Hamas, the PLO and Hezbollah keep fucking. Holla, thank you very much.
Kids can’t be terrorists. What do you call ANTIFA? Elderly wannabe Punisher vigilantes in hoodies. Holla, thank you very much.
Also stop acting like you give a shit about Ramadan. Arab terrorists started something called the Yom Kippur war against Israel in 1973, on the most holy day on the Jewish calendar with the intent of wiping Israel off the map forever. The only difference now is you have social media to make worldwide antisemitism go transparently viral in real time you Hamas lover you.