Hit a Jew Day

"I wrote this while smoking a Fincks Maravilloso.

Of course my wife was mortified.

“He’s four, B----,” she said. Gabora always calls me BT, only slipping into my first name when she is angry or in the heat of lovemaking. We weren’t making love.

“If I’m going to keep a gun in the house, he needs to know how to use it.”

“That’s fine. Maybe when he’s 11. But he’s four.”

“He’s almost five,” I counter.

“He’s four.”

What is it about Jews and guns? At what point did Jews become so averse to firearms that they would shrink from them like they were tools of evil as opposed to tools of freedom. The nation of Israel wasn’t founded by asking the Arabs politely.

I had spent the day teaching my son how to safely use a rifle and shoot at a paper target. Of course he had a blast and wanted to do it again. Even though I warned him not to tell his mother, when she put him to bed that night, he confessed: “Mommy, you know why I love Daddy so much? He took me shooting.”

Thanks, for dimeing me out, kid.

I remember that I sat with him and explained all of the parts of the rifle. I remember telling him that every Jew should learn how to use a rifle as an insurance policy against another holocaust. I told him that he couldn’t trust another man, another woman or another child. But he kept his rifle clean and oiled; he could always trust the rifle.

Of course, that was plagiarized from the movie Conan the Barbarian, but I think I got my point across.

Maybe that was a little heavy to lay on an almost-five year old, but I wanted to teach him before I left for Iraq just in case I didn’t return."
Big Tabacco

Reminds me of being a Cuban.
Every Cuban want to drive a car down Flagler St.