March 09, 2009

I never meant for this half-arsed attempt at a blog to be a chronicle of my private life; the world really can do without another navel-gazing self-flagellating self-important repetition of a normal life’s banalities.

But I really must make an exception for this one.

I was meeting a friend in a bar in Brooklyn, and we were having a pretty interesting conversation about all sorts of different stuff, when a girl sitting next to me decided it would be smart for her to interrupt us and tell me some dumb-ass canned-laughter line about Bernie Madoff and his ponzi scheme.  It was supposed to make her look like shewas “€œwith the people,”€ I suppose, versus “€œthe fat cats”€”€”or some such silliness.

A few minutes later, it proved impossible to shake her off with casual dismissal, as she incessantly piled on with awful jokes, silly puns, political humor, and racist jokes.  I even tried to defend Madoff just to piss her off, but it only kept her coming up with more. Her verbal diarrhea got so out of hand that she even thought it would be a smart idea to talk to me about her time reporting for her gossip blog from underneath her pool table, which made up to look one of the tunnels near Gaza that was bombed during the Israeli mass-murder campaign that happened about a month ago.
Yes, this amazing genius”€”who may or may not be the admirable intellect behind the genius production that is the “€œJewssip“€ blog”€”dispatched herself to an imaginary Gaza to report on the amazing spectacle of the massacre of Palestinians from the perspective of an Israel-supporting Brooklynite juvenile twat wondering whether this slaughter is good for her or not.  She thought it was quite amusing. She actually was making jokes about it.  And like all good Zionists, she was of course a raging anti-Semite, repeating some of the most god-awful anti-Semitism that only Zionists can muster.

Now”€”naturally”€”I had to explain to Little Miss Zionist Teenage Gossip Queen how absolutely idiotic everything she was doing was, and how it was disgustingly racist of her to support the mass murder of Palestinians, and criminally callous of her to talk about it the way she does.  At this point, she decided to get smart and funny on us.  She started regaling us with all sorts of silliness disguised as racist dogma that made her look like the less-funny but even-more-racist incestuous bastard child of a Joe and Avigdor Lieberman love-fest.  All of the conflict and the lives and deaths of Israelis and Palestinians were nothing but a convenient side-show drama to her self-absorbed existence.

I had to then be honest and express my true feelings to this twerp.  I completely let rip at her and told her exactly what I feel about her, her idiotic politics, her racist murderousness and, worst of all, her remarkable talent for being awfully unfunny.  I do not think I have ever been more brutally honest, rude and offensive to anyone in my life.  And if you knew me, you”€™d know that that’s really saying a lot.  I do not think anyone could possibly have ever been as humiliated as she was in a bar argument.  I will save you the gory details of my expletive-laden harangue, in order to avoid you the misery of having to hear her moronic views on things.

After finishing my tirade, she was shell-shocked.  She couldn”€™t respond. She tried to muster some criticism of me, but couldn”€™t. She tried to pretend she didn”€™t care what I said, but that was too obviously a lie even she was not gullible enough to believe. She then called me a “€œfat fuck.”€ I”€™m not fat.

Finally, she said the only intelligent thing she uttered all night: “€œif you hate me and everything I said so much, why are you talking to me?”€  I conceded that she was completely right (though it was her who started talking to us and wouldn”€™t shut up) and I immediately turned around to return to the conversation I was having with my friend.

But Little Miss Zionist Loudmouth would not shut up, nor allow me to accept her advice. In hindsight, it’s quite apparent that she was still not thinking of what I had actually said about the conflict, but the self-absorbed twat was only thinking of what it meant to her and to her prospects of talking to us for the rest of the night.

“€œWhy are you talking about me?”€ she asked.

“€œBecause I am amused that someone could possibly be as deluded as you are, you fucking moron!”€ I shouted at her, and walked to the bathroom. “€œDon”€™t be here when I”€™m back.”€

I returned to find that not only did she disappear, but so did my Palestinian Kaffiyyah.  Now, I”€™ve had this Kaffiyyah for more than 8 years. It’s not one of the crappy knock-off post-modern silly ones you”€™ll find on the shoulders of every unkempt hipster in Brooklyn”€”it’s the real deal. I”€™ve worn this before it became fashionable and will wear it way after the Williamsburg crowd find another cultural icon to butcher out of all meaning.  I was livid she”€™d run away with it. But I was not utterly surprised a Zionist fanatic would resort to taking something from a Palestinian.

But Miss Zionut Gossip Queen hadn”€™t counted on the fact that she”€™d given me her business card”€”with her phone number printed on it, just below a big blue Star of David. I immediately called and left a voicemail: “€œYou have 15 minutes to bring me back my scarf or I promise you will seriously regret it. I know your name, your phone number and your blog. I”€™m Palestinian and by now you should know we never give up when Zionists steal crap from us. Ever.”€

Eight minutes later, I texted her telling her that she had seven minutes to bring it.  At 15 minutes exactly, I had already posted a comment (the wonders of the iPhone!) on her blog saying that she had stolen my scarf.  I also called a blogger friend to get on the case. Two minutes later, I had another comment ready to be posted on her blog when a friendly old man walks into the bar with my scarf and asks who it is for. “€œA lady gave it to me outside and asked me to give it to you,”€ he said.

I immediately text messaged her: “€œSmart choice for someone as deluded as you are.”€  Her response made me realize that I had been way too kind on her in everything I had said all night.  She was not even worthy of all the insults I”€™d hurled at her.  None of our fight or my arguments had in any way registered for Ms. Zionut Queen as being in any way important, nor does she even have a clue what they are about. It was all about her, her blog, and her meeting random guys in Park Slope bars. The conflict was nothing but a sideshow to the real important center of the universe: Her.

“€œAre you playing hard to get?”€ was her reply.

I shared a massive laugh at her expense with my friend, the bartenders and a couple of new people we”€™d just met, and texted her back:  “€œYou wish.”€


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