This was a blog entry from long ago, I just haven't had time to post it.
So, on the Internet, I saw an article about a professor in Jerusalem, Israel, who found a new plant near a mountain which many rabbis believe Mt. Sinai is. Now, this isn't your ordinary plant. When the fragrance of this special flower is inhaled, it puts the person who smells it into hallucinations. Thus, this professor concludes that everything that Bnai Yesrael saw at Sinai--the thunder, the lightning, and G-d's voice was a mere hallucination. If you haven't noticed, if this is true, then all we Jews have been following is one huge lie.
There was another professor that also came out with a study that says that the burning bush that Moses saw was actually a marijuana plant. Apparently, when a marijuana plant burns, the leaves will fall off, but the wood itself will not burn. (Don't ask me, I don't smoke pot.) And when the bush burns, it also induces hallucinations. Therefor, the whole prophecy that Moses heard was all imagined.
As of this isn't crazy enough, Lady Fingers are no longer kosher for Passover, because "Lady Fingers are an inappropriate name for a food."
You know, the Arabs hating us is good and all, but you have to admit--there really isn't anything like a Jew trying to disprove his own religion. How lovely.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Diary From the Near Future
June 3rd, 2059
I turned on the radio. The news is the same. “Two terrorist attacks today, one in Times Square, and the other in the suburban town of Monsey. The United Police are still looking for clues concerning the murder of England's Prime Minister Cohan.”
I turned it off. There have been attacks for several years now. My father says that UP are doing everything they can. So does Mr. Von Frainer, our German neighbor. They both have some high-ranking positions in the United Police, an organization of the United Nations. These people are the best in war and diplomacy. If they can't stop the merciless terrorist attacks, nobody can.
June 23rd, 2059
I don't have many friends here on the UP base on Governor's Island. I'm the probably the oldest kid here. There's just nothing to do. Governor's Island doesn't have a basketball court. There's no ice skating. There's school, but it's summer now. I'm not allowed off the base. Security. I wish we could go back home to San Francisco, or at least back to normal civilization. Sometimes, I think the only good thing here is the food, and that isn't what I expected it to be.
July 18th, 2059
We keep having people around for dinner. Diplomats, commander in the UP, you get the idea. But no friends. There's always someone walking in and out of our house. And when we have guests, Mr Von Frainer is always there. He and dad go way back, since they were in the army. And what frightens me is everyone on the base carries a gun. Security and what not. It's scary. What if someone loses control and just fires it?
Well, today we had a diplomat from some weird country in Europe. Weird being defined by “one of those countries you haven't heard of, nor will you ever hear of it.” See, my two sisters, Adrianne and Anette, and I were in our rooms, so we couldn't hear what they were saying. Again, security. You can never trust kids.
I was on my bed, playing a hand-held video game. I usually don't eavesdrop. Yes, for the most part, I'm a good, little boy, who does as he is told. But I just happened to hear something disturbing. Some noise. Loud noise.
I tiptoed to the stairs, but I didn't go down. You are able to see the front door from the top of the stairs. I was there just in time to see the diplomat leaving. I called Adrianne and Anette, and we went down to the dining room.
The table was overturned. My parents and Mr. Von Frainer were dead.
Being a man obsessed with security—and with good reason, too—my father taught us what to do in such a case. First, we have to find his gun. For protection. Then we take out his radio and call for help. I did both.
I held the radio up to my mouth. My voice was shaking. I just never thought I ever have to do this. “Hello? My name is David, son of Commander Highwind. My father, my mother, and Commander Von Frainer are dead. I need help.” I waited a minute. A response crackled over the handset, “Stay where you are. Help is on the way.” Most of the time, when you hear that help is coming, you gain hope. I didn't.
I didn't hear the front door creak open. I should have—it isn't that far away, and it always creaks when it opens. I didn't. I should have hears loud footsteps. I didn't. But I did hear the words, “too late!” And three gun shots. I spun around.
And it was too late.
I turned on the radio. The news is the same. “Two terrorist attacks today, one in Times Square, and the other in the suburban town of Monsey. The United Police are still looking for clues concerning the murder of England's Prime Minister Cohan.”
I turned it off. There have been attacks for several years now. My father says that UP are doing everything they can. So does Mr. Von Frainer, our German neighbor. They both have some high-ranking positions in the United Police, an organization of the United Nations. These people are the best in war and diplomacy. If they can't stop the merciless terrorist attacks, nobody can.
June 23rd, 2059
I don't have many friends here on the UP base on Governor's Island. I'm the probably the oldest kid here. There's just nothing to do. Governor's Island doesn't have a basketball court. There's no ice skating. There's school, but it's summer now. I'm not allowed off the base. Security. I wish we could go back home to San Francisco, or at least back to normal civilization. Sometimes, I think the only good thing here is the food, and that isn't what I expected it to be.
July 18th, 2059
We keep having people around for dinner. Diplomats, commander in the UP, you get the idea. But no friends. There's always someone walking in and out of our house. And when we have guests, Mr Von Frainer is always there. He and dad go way back, since they were in the army. And what frightens me is everyone on the base carries a gun. Security and what not. It's scary. What if someone loses control and just fires it?
Well, today we had a diplomat from some weird country in Europe. Weird being defined by “one of those countries you haven't heard of, nor will you ever hear of it.” See, my two sisters, Adrianne and Anette, and I were in our rooms, so we couldn't hear what they were saying. Again, security. You can never trust kids.
I was on my bed, playing a hand-held video game. I usually don't eavesdrop. Yes, for the most part, I'm a good, little boy, who does as he is told. But I just happened to hear something disturbing. Some noise. Loud noise.
I tiptoed to the stairs, but I didn't go down. You are able to see the front door from the top of the stairs. I was there just in time to see the diplomat leaving. I called Adrianne and Anette, and we went down to the dining room.
The table was overturned. My parents and Mr. Von Frainer were dead.
Being a man obsessed with security—and with good reason, too—my father taught us what to do in such a case. First, we have to find his gun. For protection. Then we take out his radio and call for help. I did both.
I held the radio up to my mouth. My voice was shaking. I just never thought I ever have to do this. “Hello? My name is David, son of Commander Highwind. My father, my mother, and Commander Von Frainer are dead. I need help.” I waited a minute. A response crackled over the handset, “Stay where you are. Help is on the way.” Most of the time, when you hear that help is coming, you gain hope. I didn't.
I didn't hear the front door creak open. I should have—it isn't that far away, and it always creaks when it opens. I didn't. I should have hears loud footsteps. I didn't. But I did hear the words, “too late!” And three gun shots. I spun around.
And it was too late.
All-Time Depression
Ok, folks, we have an all-time depression in readers on the #1 blog: Eppis Fun Gornisht. I post, I write, I edit, and yet no one seems to read the greatest blog of all time. I put time into creating creative, entertaining, humorous blog posts and no one appreciates them. I sacrifice vidoe game and basketball time to write for my blog--and if any of you know half of me, you will know that that is ine heckuva sacrifice for me. For example: right now, I could be playing with my friends. Alright, well you get the idea. So please, visit more and comment more. Please?
Wait a second: Why am I writitng this on my blog where no one visits, so no one will read it. Hmm.....
Wait a second: Why am I writitng this on my blog where no one visits, so no one will read it. Hmm.....
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