How Two wrongs Can Make a Right

After trotting through the desert a few score years, pretty dehydrated, and tired, we received our Bible. We called the day we got it a name, Shavuot.

A few thousand years later my front suspension was recovering from the cheese blintz I'd eaten on that festival, and I was cursing the bloody Americans for adding obesity to my already stretched Jewish holiday requirement.

My destination on this day was a learning session organized by a local kiruv organisation and I was in the mood for controversy.

A little man with a little beard and large spectacles was sitting awaiting some new customers, he was shuffling some sheets nervously upon which he had scribbled, there is a G-d, there is a G-d.  

Next to him sat Philip. He was going to break him.

Philip, is an interesting gentleman, of mixed Irish, South African and G-d knows what descent, he was brought up to have an attitude of total scepticism towards any clerical authority whatsoever, even from his own religion.

Philip sports orangey hair oval spectacles, and a constant scowl, sometimes he smiles.

On this rare occasion, Philip seemed to have been blessed with a partner. I bounced to the table eagerly and the Rabbi beamed, Philip frowned.

'Lets talk about Shavuot', said the Rabbi.

I nodded.

'Hrmph', said Philip

'We all know that there must have been a reason for us to receive commandments…'

We tensed.

'Its like a marionette..' Oops.

'Nononono' muttered Philip, head bent and shaking in frustration.

'It not like a marionette.'

The Rabbi looked up concernedly and then checked his sheets, they hadn’t told him this about this customer.


I decided to put some sugar in the stew.

'It's like the matrix' I cooed.

Philip grinned.

'Ah yes the matrix', said the Rabbi. 'I've heard of that example before'.

Ooooh.

I began explaining the ins and outs of Morpheus and his comrade Neo as the Rabbi earnestly looked with puzzlement and Philip giggled.

'Neo wants to marry the girl, but is mixed by a sense of conflict about saving the world'.

I tried hard to hold myself, but the seams in my mouth, they burst, and out flowed a barrage of rubbish, which Yoshke would be ashamed of.

Philip at this point was rocking back and forth on his chair and was getting commenting stares from all sides, of which he didn’t care. He was in his element.

I decided to end it by finishing as Philip was choking on his Laffy Taffy.

'So you see, the pill WAS blue… and the right one..'

The Rabbi stared emptily. G-d forgive me.

Memoirs of a moose chapter 4

At this sombre point between the brink of forever lost innocence and escape to freedom in the rainy dark and murky streets of Leeds the choice was quite an obvious one. Nonetheless, to enlighten his intrigue of the secret, guarded goings on in 6+ female households the committed unsteady step was taken.

Let me stop here for a moment to reflect, my dear eager readers, on the previous pursuing’s and cooing’s of our dear character moose. By all means a charming and pleasant woman to behold, the moose was deeply affected by the non-reversible affliction of RTS otherwise known as repeated text sending.

She would not, could not release her finger off that dreaded x key. By night sleep, by day text. On some nights Avrom would be unexpectedly roused by the mindless tremor of his communication device followed by the squinted perception of innumerable x's on his screen - the mark of the moose.

On other occasions, whilst in the midst of a deep reverie of tantalising musical expression he would be jolted into reality by the roving creatures unpeaceful messages. There were times also, when the adhesive leech would ring and he would try to squeeze out a few drops of ego boostage which could be compared to squeezing the last droplets of Heinz ketchup from a large glass bottle.

Upon releasing the answer button she would launch into a lengthy tirade of her leeching problems with her camel friend "oh, but this hump is slippery, oh but that hump is unsteady": to put it mildly she attempted to learn from him what a Camel somewhere in Arabia had upon its mind.

But, dear eager readers, I digress with this tale of the moon and Mooses' tale must go on...

Chapter 2 ‘Leeches Territory ’ Rated R

Avrom slunk back in the leeches nail-bitingly female dominated mode of transport.

He was doomed.

He knew all too well, as he saw the leech peering closely at him in the moose-encompassing rear-view mirror that this was not going to be a light skip in the simple minded park of female courtship. Ohh no. This was the new and improved Mark II model, the ultimate Jewish manhood numbing female.

He reached cautiosly into his pocket and pretended to flick sullenly through his missed-call text messages. This was a ploy. A ploy which to his chauvinistic disbelief turned very sour. Moose shrieked into his ear, meaning to sound soft and womanly  but sounding like a bitch being repeatedly humped for non reproducing purposes - from the wildly averted corner of his eye she seemed to be a moose on heat.

He murmured something feverishly in a wild desperate moment which fell on completely club-deafened ears as the beastly twosome clattered on about which venue to proceed to, piercing the ever so frustrating bass noise a-la-mode. He bellowed, making them turn around in slightly annoyed surprise, their eyes berating him on his delinquency.

But he wasn't taking any faecal matter. He bellowed again. This time slightly increasing the tone of his volume.

This time he got the required response; leech jumped huddling closely to the protectful moose
before tightly gripping her femininely garbed steering wheel as if it would save her from this
maniac she didn't seem to know too well.

It seemed to her as she repeatedly glanced guardedly in her rearview mirror that this relationship was not as simple as it had seemed in her pink hindsight....

“Memoirs of a moose"

Chapter 1 - Leeches territory

After pondering upon ponders, Avrom decided to go satisfy the mooses insistent urges. He duly booked a ticket to the slow rhythm of an unavoidable female catastrophe. In his minds sexually depraved but nevertheless myopically focused eye he pictured a cosy environment overflowing with scurrying nymphs of hedonistic natures. He even pictured an idyllic scene whereby he would induce the moose to dispose carelessly of her clothing at the very moment her eyes were cast on him, thus satisfying his much discussed ego. He was mistaken. Greatly mistaken.

Having thus perused over the heavenly gildings of his imagination on the national express bus service, Avrom, with formidable grandeur, descended from the service only to be morosely greeted by two dull looking Bangladeshis querying him for their overpriced cabs. He grabbed their touristic offer with gusto. As he proceeded to the meeting point, Avrom swung his newly acquired Primark clothing to and fro with the true bounce only an Italian prince would feel ascending his throne.

An impatient beep greeted him as the unhelpful leech impatiently peeking through her largely rimmed spectacles with her chlorine blue eyes. This was not going to be a princes' reception..

Receiving The Bag- The Malaise of Organizational Release

Receiving The Bag- The Malaise of Organizational Release


Deep dark murmurs could be heard in could be heard in the corridors, some would flash glances in his direction. Others would avert their gaze in fearful apprehension. No one likes to get chucked. There were no shortages of vultures as well, ready to sink their teeth into some juicy promotion; most of them were suckers, but some were ready to go that extra serpential step. Sometimes he would return brave understanding smiles in exchange for their 'I emphasize with your situation, but I ain't gonna risk getting friendly with a firee' looks.

On other occasions he could conceal himself between shadowy office doorways and spend lengthy periods nursing a plastic cup wistfully at the water dispenser or broken copy machine, inanimate objects he would dearly miss.

Then his hands would tensely start forming a fist as he cast his mind back angrily to the moment his ample sized boss directed him his office at a time when he wasn’t expecting a pay rise. And as soon as fatty repeated the all too well known, apologetically patronising sentence 'I am really sorry BUT..', he began pondering a flamboyant exit as his eyes cast themselves upon the more than warmish 'Best dad' mug the cocky cretin in front of him was holding and the interesting effectible physics of its dispersion.

But an inevitable eye warning was made accompanied by an 'Is it worth your last pay cheque’ regard, he decided against direct terrorism and resolved to some mental guerrilla warfare. He began by eyeing plumpie's prized handcrafted vase circa 1930s pensively, which brought a sudden fearful look into his eyes, he was ready to play ball with an open net, and suddenly the corpulent domination was on the ropes.