Old Jewish Men in the Wild
they eat, they talk, they sit. They look good doin it.
Welcome to the first edition of OJMW (Old Jewish Men in the Wild) for February 26th. It’s only Wednesday but it’s been one hell of a week. Yesterday I had a fight with my takeout bag, couldn’t find the soy sauce. Had to go back to the restaurant. No good.
Anyways, here are the fashion kings of the week.
Manhattan’s a collision course, a pinball machine without rubber, which is why you need good arch supports and a lifetime of experience. No one likes getting knocked around 47th street.
The Talmud teaches us many things: to drink orange juice in the morning, not to fornicate with the neighbors donkey, and to never ever give an inch on any sidewalk, even in Albuquerque.
When you catch a shoulder or a hard body you never apologize, unless of course they have a handgun. But if they look non-threatening, or are shorter and less muscular than you are, try yelling, “hey fucko! I’m waddling here!”
Those people who try to get you to move off the sidewalk to make room…they’re called “sidewalk jousters”. In this medieval game of chicken, you’re the king and this is your court. When they draw near, yell. And if you just had throat cancer, growl. If that doesn’t go over so well hit ‘em in the knee caps with your cane.
Remember, you got a good lawyer.
Don’t let anyone encroach on your walking lane. It’s your territory. This is your city, bubbela. You own these streets, or at least the right lane of the sidewalk, so they can step right off.
oy, look like Noo Yawkers
Surprised to get this funny and interesting email. Loved it. Don't make me plotz so keep it coming!