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.