Hanukkah Begins

Dear Typewriter,

Today is the first day of Hanukkah, and I would like to share with you some of my old family traditions. They go back a long way, as I have been celebrating Hanukkah my entire life, except for a period from 1971 to 1975 in which I celebrated Kwanzaa. This did not happen by choice, but because I was forced at gunpoint to be a black man for four continuous years.

At sundown, we begin by lighting the first candle on the menorah, along with the center shamash candle. Then you light the second one and are smacked by your mother or father because you are not supposed to light the second one yet. Also, this makes God hate you and ruins Hanukkah. I have never understood why ruining Hanukkah is part of the tradition of Hanukkah, but these things work in mysterious ways. I have already passed the ritual down to Herschel, and because I am getting old, he has taken to smacking himself for the second-candle blasphemy. Herschel has also added his own tradition to the lighting, which is to light a cigarette on each candle that is lit, but this is not a real tradition because it is forbidden to use the candles in any way. Herschel is, in fact, no longer recognized as Jewish by anyone of the Jewish faith as a result of this offense. He did not take it well last year when my first Hanukkah gift to him was the returning of his foreskin, enclosed in a locket that also harboured a photo of his circumcised penis with a red prohibition circle over it. Not to worry; I followed it up the next day with a silver mustache comb.

Once the candle has been lit, it is customary to say three blessings. I like to spice this part up by reciting them in the voices of the Three Stooges, one for each blessing. My favourite is the "Curly" blessing, because I get to lay down on the floor and "run" in a counter-clockwise circle. But, as I mentioned, I am getting old; last year I laid down to do it and went to sleep for eleven hours.

Another custom on Hanukkah is to partake in feasts of fried foods. It is not often that I eat fried food, but I have discovered that if you pay an extra $7.50, you can get McLatkes at McDonald's. For $25 more, you can get two McPontshkes. These are a lot like McLatkes, except they are called McPontshkes. Herschel tells me you can also get a "Happy Ending" there, but whenever he emerges from the back he does not look happy. I went back there to see for myself and a group of Asian ladies laughed at me. I laughed, too. It seemed happy to me.

When Herschel was a boy, I decided it would be a fun thing to do if I snuck into his room at night and slipped his Hanukkah gelt under his pillow. This led to a disproportionately massive web of lies causing him to believe that the Tooth Fairy was Jewish, married to a leprechaun, and lived in a tower in Santa Fe, New Mexico. I pretended to take him to said tower one summer in 1980, but it was really just a phonebooth on top of an outhouse, each one occupied by homeless people that I had paid to wear tooth fairy and leprechaun costumes. Herschel later married both of them at the same time.

I must be going now, as I can see that the snow is falling and I was hoping to count the number of snowflakes descending so that I may report it to the local weather station in hopes that someone will tell me I am good at weather.

Happy Hanukkah,
Sol

Correspondence

Dear Typewriter,
Today I received a reply to one of my many fan letters to Dame Edna. Let me reprint some of it for you here:

"Mr. Schwartz,
It has recently been brought to our attention that your numerous letters to Mr. Humphries contain an overwhelming amount of disturbing sexual imagery and obsessive language. For the safety of Mr. Humphries and those around him, we request that you cease all contact with our client, written or otherwise, including matzo ball care packages and inappropriate photos of yourself in different yarmulkes."

Clearly Dame Edna is now practicing law and her client, one Mr. Humphries, has given her the address for the wrong Sol Schwartz. I shall write again to notify them of their mistake.

Herschel is angry with me for losing his Nintendo Wii. I offered to buy him a new 8 track player but he says it is not the same. How many tracks does the Nintendo play? I will go to Wal-Mart tomorrow and ask if they have a 10 or 11 track player. I don't like when Herschel is angry. He makes gross faces and salivates a lot. Maybe I will ask Wal-Mart if he has rabies, too.

I also had an eye examination earlier this week, but am not allowed back because Dr. Bernstein's eye chart spells "your wife is cheating on you", and when he asked me to read it I accidentally said "rife" instead of "wife". He is a real akshn about proper pronunciation.

I have to go now, as I have just played a recording of someone ringing my doorbell, and I must check to make sure someone didn't ring my doorbell for real at the exact same moment.

-Sol

Crippled

Dear Typewriter,
I have not written in a long time because I was involved in a painful accident. Allow me to explain: As I was coming home from a game of shuffleboard one night (purely spectating), I thought I spotted a silver dreidel at the bottom of a subway station. As I always do when I am in a hurry, I descended the steps 9 at a time, but it slipped my mind that I am not so young anymore, and I landed on my backside. Then as I was standing up to brush myself off, a mugger shot me in the finger. Unfortunately it was my typing finger. If you have ever been shot in the finger, you will understand the shameful realization that you may never wear a glove that fits properly again. To make matters worse, the mugger was never caught because due to my damaged finger I was unable to point out to the authorities the direction in which he fled. It has taken me an entire month of rehabilitation, but I am almost back to my regular typing speed (1.7 words per minute, thank you very much).

Being an old khoyle for these past weeks has put things into perspective for me. Here is a list of things I was unable to do without the use of my index finger:

-dial a rotary telephone
-pick my nose
-call an elevator
-stir my coffee
-dial a touch-tone telephone
-give a rectal examination
-give the "peace" sign
-reenact any scene from the movie "E.T."

I experimented with scotch taping the Nintendo Wii to my hand (Alas, I still do not know the mystery of this machine), but I ruled out that it was not a prosthetic finger when I went to shake hands with my rabbi's cousin Murray, whose right hand is a briefcase that snapped closed over my hand and stole the Nintendo from my care. Tonight I will pray for its return. Praying is all we can do because Herschel says that all of his money is tied up in some sort of sex gamble. What about my money, I said, and he said shut up old man, you have no money. 33 years old and he still has not told a joke I can understand. I am writing a note to myself to buy him a joke book, or a copy of "Encino Man" on VHS cassette tape.

-Sol

Confused

Dear Typewriter,
Herschel has been trying to convince me that the lovely Dame Edna who lives in my television set is actually a man in women's clothing. I don't believe him, because men don't wear dresses and sexy pointed glasses. He is only jealous of our love.

Herschel does not have love in his life. He brings home a lot of women and has unprotected sex with them, but he was never able to get over the fact that every morning he wakes up to find them having relations with another man beside him in his bed. That man is Larry, our neighbour.

My doctor's appointment went well. I am 79 years old, but Dr. Goldman says I have the body of a 78 year-old and the mind of a 52 year-old who does a lot of drugs. However, he would not accept my urine sample. Since when is an eyedropper an unsuitable urine container? I am thinking of writing a letter to the board of medicine about this travesty.

Does anybody know how to use a Nintendo Wii? Herschel brought one home and I kept pressing buttons on the remote but was unable to change the channel. I asked him to do it for me, but he only looked at me and broke wind. Maybe it is not a TV channel super changer. I think tomorrow I will take it out to the lake and see if it is a fishing rod. I am very good at discovering technology. Ever since I figured out the mystery behind the electric pencil sharpener in a matter of mere weeks (spaghetti disposal unit), all of my friends have been coming to me for "technology assistance." That is the term the professionals use in the field. I will win against the Nintendo!

I must go now. There is a cat fighting a squirrel outside my window, and it is my duty to show them that it is wrong to raise a fist against one another.

A gutn tog,
Sol

P.S. Almost forgot my Torah! How was I expecting to teach those rodents anything without being able to show them the most important passages in writing? Oy vey!

Love?

Dear Typewriter,
I think I have fallen in love with a shiksa. I was watching a program on my television set when suddenly I am beholding the most angelic and charismatic woman I have seen since my ex-wife, who is a klafte. Her name is Edna, but I suspect she has been lady-knighted by the Queen of England because everyone was referring to her as "Dame Edna". I tried to tell her that I was aroused by her lovely pointed glasses, but she could not hear me. I am going to ask my son Herschel if he can help me remove the glass screen from my television set, as I suspect it is soundproof and is preventing me from scoring.

Speaking of glasses, people are always asking me about mine. Today while I was riding the bus a little boy asked me if I was going to see a 3D movie. I told him about my eye condition, and how I can only see colours properly if they are filtered through red. Then he threw up on my lap, so I went home to change my pants.

Here is a list of things I would like to do to Dame Edna:

*Deleted.* Trust me, you do NOT want to see that list! - Herschel

Tomorrow I have a doctor's appointment. I always get nervous at the doctor's office, because I am worried that they will discover the cancer I have been hiding in my liver. That is a joke for all of my doctor friends. I of course had my liver removed years ago due to an ingrown toenail. But in all seriousness, the reason I worry is because a blind rabbi once told me that the series of pimples on my left shoulder spells out "mageyfe" in braille. I am going to ask Dr. Goldman if it is okay for someone to be afflicted with braille.

I have to go now, because I am hungry and the restaurant across the street closes in twenty minutes. I think I will order the honig special.

-Sol

P.S. I wonder if Dame Edna likes her chicken soup with Shkedei marak. I will ask my television once I return.

Welcome

Shalom, readers inside the internet. My name is Sol and I am coming to you from my typewriter, which my son then puts on the internet, because I don't know what it is. Can anybody explain to me what an internet is? Herschel (that's my son) assures me it is a very successful business venture, but it is hard to understand him when he is not speaking Yiddish. I once tried smiling and nodding, and then he handed me a bowl of noodles and a book on architecture. Another time I shook my head, and he gave me a handgun and two menorahs. I have also tried simply staring at him, but then he thought I couldn't hear him and rented a skywriting plane just to ask me if I wanted a glass of Manischewitz wine. Oy vey, the things that boy spends American dollars on! He should be saving for a good bordmumkhe! (that's Yiddish for groomer of the face afro.)

But enough about Herschel, let me tell you about myself. I have a 33 year-old son named Herschel. He lives with me because his mother is an alcoholic and, I suspect, a terrorist. I have tried to notify the police about this matter, but the only Yiddish cop in the department will not speak to me because he saw me accidentally glance into a television store that was playing an old episode of Roseanne, which has been boycotted in our synagogue. Herschel is 33, and he is my son. Did I say that already? Gvald geshrign, I am getting old. My 33 year-old son, Herschel, says that he is going to put me in a retirement home and convert the house into a two-story wrestling ring for the women. I don't understand his jokes.

In conclusion, your blatant exploitation of non-kosher ham is of great offense to the Jewish people, and if you do not remove it from your sign, I will be forced to tell Rabbi Widdowitz when the topic arises in conversation.

Sincerely,

Sol Q. Schwartz, Esquire

P.S. I apologize for that last part. I thought I was writing a letter to the deli on 32nd and 5th. Herschel, please delete this part when you put it on top of my internet.