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Please Mark Zuckerberg, Help, I’m Jewish!
Letter To Mark Zuckerberg
Please forgive the informality, but guys who have Zuckerberg (EnglishTranslation Sugarmountain) for a name were always called Zucky in my old Brooklyn neighborhood.
I know you come from Scarsdale or some ritzy place but I’ll bet you were still called “Zucky” as a term of endearment…and above all, I want this letter to be endearing.
Because you could lterally save my life
Here’s how. I am a broke, hasbeen actor/writer. I currently have a flop at the Motion Picture Home for the aged. It’s not a bad place—it’s just not for me. Though I’m deep in my eighties, I still have hope, and there’s little of that around here. My fellow denizens walk around (if they can still walk) constantly complaining about their aches and pains. They also bitch about the lack of visits from their ungrateful children. But one visit they don’t complain about and that’s the one that’s inevitable, is the visit from the Grim Reaper.
I’m putting him off too because I still want to live like I used to. And I once lived pretty good in Hollywood. But with alimony, bad investments, and the ever-shrinking job market for altercockers,(old man) I can’t find work!
Now by the grace of Hashem,(For those who are not MOT ( member of the tribe ) that’s how we Jews refer to God. As I was saying, by the grace of Hashem I finally got a helluva job and you Zucky, got it for me. You recently made the first Facebook television commercial…it was a beaut. It depicted many people from around the world who use Facebook which essentially means the entire world and I was a featured player in that commercial. An Arab sheik.
And that’s where the trouble began.
Facebook TV Commercial
But I’m no sheik.
And this is the real, real me.
I know you didn’t know that I was MOT because of the costume and my professional delivery. My consummate acting chops sold me as an Arab Sheik …
And here comes the rub for who knows for whatever reason, despite my stellar performance I was left on the cutting room floor.
Administrative oversight no doubt, but one that can be corrected by you for this Jew who looks like an Arab.…
It would be a mitzvah (blessing) and would allow me to rent a pad in Hollywood, where I could hang out with my buddies from the Super Bowl Taco Bell commercial.
I hope you can take care of this Zucky. Pick me up off the cutting room floor.
I will be eternally grateful.
And if you need further proof that I’m Jewish, I’ll show you my circumcised schmekel (penis to you Christians). I realize Muslims are circumcised as well as many Christians, so to proveI I’m Jewish I’ll recite The Shema (our holiest prayer). Of course I won’t do this at the same time I’m exposing myself, that would be sacrilegious.
Anyway in closing I hope you give this letter and my pleas some consideration.
Mazel Tov (Luck) to you and your Chinese wife. I hear that Chinese-Jewish children have the highest IQ’s in the world. L’Chaim (Life) to you Zucky.
I’m Not Proud I’m A Veteran
“Thank you for your service.”
People invariably say when they find out I am a veteran. Some of these folks try to shake my hand—and some even try to hug me. Since none of my admirers are starlets or models, I try to avoid all physical contact. Moreover, I frequently tell these thankful people that I’m not particularly proud that I’m a vet. In fact, I’m downright ashamed that I am. If the well-wishers look horrified at that statement, I go into particulars.
I start off by telling them I didn’t go willingly into service and tried every way I could to get out of it. Besides, the fracas I got entangled in was not even a war. The Korean debacle was called a police action. It seemed like a war to me; over 50,000 American soldiers never came back from that police action.
Escape To The National Guard
I definitely didn’t want to add to that dismal number, but in those days, we didn’t have a standing army and the services were people with draftees. The mass refusals which saw their zenith in the Vietnam fracas were unheard of the Korean venture. Nobody went over the hill but helluva lot of us tried everything possible to get out of going.
The best way to remain safe and to keep the extremities was to join the National Guard; it was definitely the coward’s way out. A decade after my service, it was used by a drunken coward named George Walker Bush. He needed pull to get into the air national guard … and of course he had it with Daddy, who at the time was head of the CIA.
My family had no pull, so I was on my own, but it just so happened that Gene Rossides, a college All-American quarterback, was one of my best friends. He and I took our physical and were designated 1A, which meant it wouldn’t be long before we would be freezing our asses off in Korea … wherever the hell that was.
I may have had no idea about that country’s physical location, but in conferences with Gene, it was decided that we’d try to avoid Korea by joining the National Guard. It took some doing, but if you’re an All-American quarterback you get some perks. Gene used them and he dragged me along and we found ourselves in a National Guard camp.
The camp lasted two weeks and at the end of our hitch, Gene and I conferred about our future. By joining the National Guard, we had to agree to certain obligations: we had to attend one National Guard session a week, and give up one month out of the year at a Guard training camp. And these obligations would go on for six years!
It was a total intrusion on our lives and we decided to quit the Guard and give ourselves to the draft, because our service would last for two years and then we would be done for it.
Phony Flag Pins
Today I’m damned ashamed about that decision. The Korean police action was a senseless war, like all those that followed, and every last one of them was fostered, enhanced and engendered by downright lies from politicians who never saw a day of service. When I see these phonies on TV, I feel like breaking the set. And I feel so sorry for the poor souls who are duped by these criminally, insane politicians with their phony flag pins who are sending these poor people into harm’s way.
These unfortunate, duped men and women usually came from the lower class of our society. Yes, the infantry man who is brutally killing his way into the hearts of people in the Middle East last year was slinging hamburgers at your local fast-food restaurant. Their lives, though just beginning, were at a dead end— and the service seems a way to a brighter future.
Of course there are other reasons people willingly go into service. Some think they’re getting back at the evil doers. Others actually feel they’re bringing hope and freedom to tribes of goat herders who hate them. And then there are those amongst us who just like to march around and shoot guns and kill people. If they weren’t in the Army they’d be jail … and that’s where a lot of them are going to end up anyway … and another large number will be homeless or become PSTD laden street people.
So because of all this mayhem and criminality, I’m not at all proud that I served my country in its’ vain attempt at ruling the earth. In fact, I’m damned ashamed I was a small part of that insane, hubristic and criminal endeavor. And take that statement along with your tinny-flag pin and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine. I used this overworked yet graphic homily because that’s all these flag-waving troglodytes can understand.
Then, I’ll follow that oration with a sloppy salute followed by the fuck you sign.
I hope I live through the experience.
Everybody Should Serve In A Draft
In closing, I don’t want to be buried in a veteran’s cemetery. Throw my ashes to the wind and write an obit that says I was a thoughtful, peaceful citizen of the United States—who wasn’t proud he spent any time in the service …
And I fervently hope this message gets to some poor kid who is about to be conned into the service by some fat-assed recruiting sergeant. Kiddo—don’t go. There are way too many deaths, plus arms, legs, penises and breasts, and eyes lying in the dirt of some god forsaken desert.
But lastly—and surprising even me—I’m not against the draft. Everybody should serve … but they should spend that time making the world and this country a better place … not by killing supposedly-wrong doers, but by serving sometime in the ghettos of the world.
If I were a veteran of that kind of an operation, I would be proud of my service. Yet, hope always resides in the human psyche, and a small sliver of that hope remains in my soul. May being in the service be a service to everyone. Throw away your guns and build wells, treat and cure malaria, build latrines, and look up at a sky without drones dropping death, but see the sun and stars and a blue sky over a rich and abundant earth.