aired Jan. 10, 2015 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip: http://youtu.be/mRq5DBLqUGA
Shalom Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for the week of January 11, 2015.
Where’s the King of Cartoons when you need him? Remember him, from the Pee-Wee Herman show? He was a big old schvartze with a super 8 projector, and he’d show nostalgic animations to the kiddies at home. It wasn’t exactly “South Park,” but at least, the cartoons had a big brother, an overseer, someone who would, presumably, also protect harmless, defenseless cartoonists.
Protect them from what? What else? Muslims. Crazy-ass, psychopathic, radical Muslims. Muslims who stormed into the offices of a satirical newspaper in Paris and methodically killed a dozen people, wounded a dozen others, and got away in their black Mohammed mobile while shouting “Allahu Akhbar,” which, of course means, “whose turn is it to pay for White Castle?”
Seriously, though, I am getting so tired of hearing, “Oh, it’s just a small faction. You can’t fault the whole religion. A zillion people follow Islam all over the globe, and they’ve never killed anyone . . . Yet.” Sure, that’s true. But why is it every time you turn on the news, and some lunatic causes mayhem and chaos, 99 times out of 103, it’s a douchebag in a black hood shouting how much he loves him some Allah?
And God forbid we should say there’s a pattern. God forbid we should profile towelheads at the airport. No, better we should blame the cartoonists for riling up our enemies with naughty pictures. You know, if I tracked down and shot every schmuck who made an anti-Semitic comment on youtube or Huffpo, I’d be a killing machine to rival Chuck Norris. I’d have to hire my accountant, Morty Birnbaum, just to keep a ledger of all the worthless bastards I’d executed. I’d walk through every school in the middle east with bandoleers criss-crossed over my chest like Pancho Villawitz. And I’d put a bullet through the head of every man, woman and child who ever said a word against me, Israel, or “Curb Your Enthusiasm.” I’d leave so many bodies lying around, the 2004 Indonesian tsunami would look at me and go, “Dude, I’m not worthy.”
Homicidal fantasies aside, I do not do these things. I dream about them. I rant about them. But I do not do them. Why? Because I’m a coward. And also a human being. Occasionally. I know there’s a difference between right and wrong, and that committing mass murder to prove how religious you are is like drinking three sixpacks to prove you’re not an alcoholic. But someone in Arabia didn’t get the memo. And he certainly didn’t forward it to his gun-toting, Koran-spewing buddies.
If I sound like a broken record, it’s because I’m a broken-hearted record. Every couple of weeks I have to do one of these Rabbinical Reflections, not about a Jewish holiday, not about social causes, but always about Arabs with a mental defect and a death wish. But when I call a spade a spade, I’m a racist, I’m part of the problem, I’m promoting the crypto-zionist western-fascist Jew-owned police state that’s oppressing the poor little Bedouins and their cutesy-wutesy oil wells. Well, shtup that and shtup them.
As of this writing, one of the terrorists has given himself up, and authorities are on the trail of two French-born, Islamic brothers who helped pull off the bloodbath. May all three be caught, strapped to an easel and stabbed in the throat with a sharpened Faber Castell polychromos yellow. And, at the moment of their deaths, may the King of Cartoons draw a thought bubble, in permanent marker, next to their heads, with the words inside reading, “Suck it, Allah. Mohammed’s a joke!” Or whatever the Arabic version of that might be.
Then, may his highness, the King of Cartoons erase these three Islamic smudges from the book of life, and may God create another tsunami, this one in the middle east, wiping out every terrorist and enabling Muslim caliphate, leaving just Israel intact, surrounded by millions of miles of pure, pristine sand. “Well,” God will say to the King of Cartoons, “back to the drawing board.”
This has been a Rabbinical Reflection from Rabbi Sol Solomon, Temple Sons of Bitches in Great Neck, New York.
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