Nobody was more progressive than the Goldbergs of Maspeth, and when they were
blessed with a daughter, they named her Chirlane, after NYC Mayor Bill Deblassio’s
progressive wife Chirlane Deblassio. They admired the forward thinking Mayor;
how he had the courage to marry an unattractive older black lesbian, and have
mulatto children.
They would love a half-black grandson, possibly fathered by one of the nice young
rappers their Chirlane associated with.
“I hope Dontavious marry me when he released.” Chirlane chirped with ghetto
twang.
Mr. Goldberg replied “Don’t try to tie down any of these nice young men; they don’t
marry in their culture.”
“A grandchild would be nice.” Added Mrs. Goldberg.
“Yes.”
“C’mon Mom & Dad! Get your coats; we’ll be late for the fundraiser at the Long
Island Jewish Museum.” Chirlanes’ voice changed from ghetto bitch to valley girl.
One might think that balancing love of black culture with a dedication to the
memory of the holocaust was a difficult balancing act, but Chirlane pulled it off. Her
hard young eyes still went gooey at the mention of the 6 million who had been
murdered only because they were Jews! Murdered by Nazis! She still had Grandpa
though.
The happy family walked to their Mercedes parked in the driveway. Mr. Jones across
the street scowled at them and limped back inside his house.
“Racist.” Mumbled Mr. Goldberg under his breath.
Both Chirlane Goldberg and the Jones’ daughter Ashley had been suspended from
HS for BJs, but afterward Mr. Jones had forbidden his daughter to hang out with
blacks.
The brave young Dontavious had ambushed Mr. Jones with a hammer; unfortunately
he was caught and prosecuted, but luckily the court was progressive and the
aspiring rapper got a minimum sentence, and would be out of the county jail any
day.
Primarily because of this Chirlane was not admitted to Harvard and now went to
college locally at Hostra. The Goldberg’s saved some money, but Chirlane hated
being far from her parents, and cried a lot when it was time to return to the dorms.
“Boo-hoo-hoo, it sad to see this gansta’-bitch be cryin’.” She spoke in the third
gansta’-bitch person. She changed to suburban brat and said “Mommy, I’m soo alone
at the dorm. Could I take Grandpa with me?”
Mrs. Goldberg was mildly shocked at the request. The Goldberg’s looked at each
other, and looked at the fireplace mantle. Up there were some family photos and
some Jew chachkas, and in the center, the place of honor was Grandpa, or rather the
bar of soap that Nazis had rendered Grandpa into.
The soap was minimally packaged; the paper wrapper, originally Israeli blue had
faded with time, it read, “Ingredient: Rabbi Shmooly Goldberg”, below that in large
letters “SOAP made from JEWS”, below that in small letters “for display only”.
Thankfully there were no Swastikas on the front, and on the back in between a
Swastika and a star of David it read “JEW SOAP from Auschwitz”.
What could they do? They had never said no to their daughter.
“Thanks Mom & Dad!” Chirlane exclaimed without waiting for their reply. They
rushed out for the ‘early bird special’ before depositing their daughter at the dorm.
There was no fireplace, or fireplace mantel in Chirlane’s dorm room, and she was
trying to decide where best to display Grandpa when her door opened.
“Dontavious!” She jumped for joy, put the bar of soap on her table and jumped into
Dontavious’s arms, “You be out!”
“That right white bitch, we gonna’ make a movie together!”
Her small room was now filled with young rappers in hoodies, and also her cousin
Shmooly.
“Shmooly, what are you doing here, I thought you were at rabbinical school!?!”
“Not anymore, now I am a producer.”
She was a bright girl and caught on quick, a knowing smile came over her face. “You
gonna’ watch Shmooly?”
“I like to watch.” He spoke with a sly grin, then added, “I’m going to make you a
star!”
The young black men had produced malt liquor, grape drank and lit some blunts.
They were rapping away.
“We all gonna be stars!” proclaimed Dontavious.
“You go first Dontavious, I want to have your baby, baby.”
“I told you before woman, I ain’t takin’ dat chance! Dat not the hole we goin’ in.”
The young men already had her face down on the table and were pulling down her
pants. Her cousin Shmooly took out a camera.
“OK, you have my permission, but please use some lube this time.” Doubtless she
was disappointed.
Dontavious looked around the small room and saw the bar of Jew soap on the table.
He tore the old blue wrapper off, took the bar of soap and shoved it up her ass.
Chirlane Goldberg squealed like a stuck pig as Dontavious drilled for oil. He was
going like a bunny, an energizer-bunny, a jungle-bunny! Cousin Shmooly held a
camera in one hand and… that smell! That terrible odor!?! Like 6 million kosher
farts, maybe worse!
“I can’t breathe!” “I can’t breathe!” Everyone was escaping from the small dorm
room.
Chirlane frantically held her breath as she searched for Grandpa. “Grandpa! Grandpa
where are you?!?” She saw old blue label had been torn off and the soap was gone.
Just then a voice came out of her ass. “Free at last! Free at last!”
“Grandpa, is that you?!?”
“Free at last! Free at last!”
“Grandpa, is that you?!?”
“Free at last! I’ll never pay for anal again! Free at last!”
THE END
A LONG ISLAND JEWISH TALE
4 Likes
We really need a thread for our members’ literary compositions.
3 Likes