Goy Vey!

Yesterday was Easter. My father, my very devoutly Catholic father, calls us. After some small talk he starts to say odd things. His first weird one was, "Well, we thought we'd wish you guys a happy Easter, even though it's not real popular with Jewish people." I mean, I know we just had Passover, and all that, but I wasn't quite sure why he was mentioning it. My dad's a sweet guy, but I don't think he's ever mentioned the feelings of the Jewish people with regards to Easter before now. I mumbled something and the conversation moved on to my asking what he and my Stepmom had done for the holiday. He explained that they'd gone to Mass and a lunch with some friends from church, then visiting and then had a nice dinner. I said that our bird was still in the oven. He was startled and blurted out, "What?" I repeated, wondering what was so odd about it, or if he'd heard "baby" instead of "bird" or that he'd forgotten I know how to operate an oven, but he interrupted because my Stepmom, who'd given up drinking for Lent and was now on her fourth cocktail, was pantomiming something at him. Apparently she was rolling her hands and pointing. After some confusion we figured out she was sending her love. The conversation moved on to Thomas. Dad: "How's my Grandson? Still cute with no neck?" Me: "Well, he's still pretty pudgy, yeah, but he's got a neck now that he can hold his head up." Dad: "Heh, he's going to be the first football player in the family, with a Jewish last name!" Things suddenly become very, very clear to me. Me: "Um, Dad, our last name is German." Dad: "Oh, German-Jew?" Me: "No, no, Rob's family is German Catholic. The name's just German." Dad: "Oh, so you're not Jewish? All this time we thought it was Jewish."
Um, yeah, I've been Jewish for the last four and a half years, but I've been hiding it. It's my super hero secret identity. Mild mannered atheist by day, matzo-lovin', dreidle-flinging crime fighter by night!! I'm such a stealthy Jew, I keep calling at Christmas, just to keep up appearances! I am so tricksy, I didn't have the baby circumsized, lest my cover be blown! I am....The Kosher Cammando!
There were clues, I'll admit. For instance, there was that one time that the UC Berkeley Jewish Student Association sent me in inviation to a mixer where one could "Tango with your fellow Jews," but I was able to, with a fine performance on my part, not go and convince my family that I'd decided not to try and fake my way through a complicated dance I didn't know with someone else's fellow Jews. Secretly, of course, the Tango is one of my special powers. I weild it mercilessly to subdue the Gentiles.

Sweet Stalker Jesus! Donnelly is going to Hell for this post - whee!

So Mr. Grammatarian came across this: http://members.aol.com/JesusImages/Index.htm and sent it to me. Now, I know that many religious people will find the idea behind these drawings very touching and comforting. Some people would find the very idea of mocking drawings of Jesus sacreligious, tacky, in bad taste - luckily, I'm not one of those people! Rather than taking the images, because I think that mocking Jesus is okay, but stealing this guy's drawings is not, I'm just going to make a link from my comment to the image in question.
Trucker: J-Sizzle, Carjacker!
Bank Teller: Martha, thinking:"Oh man, it's that Jesus guy. He's going to hit on me again, I just know it. Maybe if I count out this cash over and over again, really slowly, he'll get bored and go chat up Agnes in New Accounts."
Welder: Jim, exhausted from a long week and glad to be finally finishing up this last weld, certainly isn't expecting that prankster Jesus to suddenly push on his elbow causing that crucial seam to melt into a pile of slag. Oh Jesus, you madcap!
Surgeon: J-Man: "Of course I don't need to scrub or wear a mask, I'm the fucking Son of God. And, you know, not to make light of your 12 years of schooling, the grueling internship and residency, but you do know I could heal this guy with a wave of my hand, right?"
Guitarist This one isn't actually Jesus. It's just Bud, the roadie, wearing the singer's bathrobe while the band's onstage.
Student: J-sizzle: "now my hand on your shoulder is, as you can clearly read in that textbook on Sexual Harrassment Law, is 'OK'. However, when I spank your firm little co-ed ass with *this* hand, it's going to cross the line into Chapter 3!"
Fisherman: "look, Jezzybits, if I have to hear about the 45 lb Muskee you created out of nothing and served with loaves one more damned time, I'm ramming this pole up your ass."
Juggler: Apparently the H in Jesus H. Christ stands for "Heckler." "Wooh, that's right, you throw those bowling pins and catch them! This is the path you've chosen for your life, huh? That's awesome, I'm so glad I FUCKING DIED to give you salvation so you could CATCH SHIT for money! Way to go, thanks for validating my sacrifice!"
Dental Assistant: "And when I SHOVE your arm like this, his gums bleed and he makes that awesome Wookie noise! I love watching his hands clenching on the arm of the chair. Hehehe...woooh, gets me every time. You don't think that's nice? Fuck it, he's an atheist."
Prayer: "Dear Lord, please take your son home. At first it was kind of sweet, him following me around and making the puppy dog eyes at me, but, well, showing up at my office and turning my coffee into wine? Yeah, he almost got me fired. I bought nails yesterday, God, please don't make me use them."
I'll stop now. There are more on the page, so feel free to jump on in with your interpretations, or you know, tell me what a bad, bad person I am! Either way, giggles for me!

Drive-by by proxy

What you need to know to make this story make sense:
1. We have a baby. (Well, gee, no shit Donnelly, really? As it's the only thing you ever talk about, I'm pretty sure we all would have caught on without you mentioning it. [Stuff it, smartass])
2. Mr. Grammatarian has some tattoos, piercings, and, most pertinent to the story, brandings.
3. When I say "drive-by" I mean a "Mommy drive-by," you know, that really annoying thing random people do where they sort of blind-side you with parenting advice/snark that is always delivered in that tone of voice that implies disbelief that you have been allowed unsupervised custody of a child and thank god they came along just in time, paragon of parenting that they are, at just the right moment with their bit of Dr. Phil drivel that will, no doubt, change the entire way you look at raising your children and save the poor dears from a lifetime of therapy? Yeah, I hate that.

So, the story is this: Mr. G was at work today when one of his co-workers noticed, apparently for the first time, the tribal branding he has around his bicep. I wasn't there, so I'm going to insert my imagined stage directions for your benefit.
Setting: the kitchen at the office.
Co-worker: [pointing, hand to mouth, wide eyes] "WHAT is that!!!! Did you have a tattoo removed?"
Mr. G: [raised eyebrow, sidelong glance, long-suffering sigh] "No, it's a branding." [voice over internal monologue "You fucking idiot, do you seriously think I would go to the effort of getting a tattoo just to remove it? Who do you think I am? Do I look like a college-aged girl with her boyfriend's name inked onto my ass to you? Seriously, could you be more insulting. You know, I could kill you quite handily with nothing more than the frothing attachment on this espresso machine. i could make it look like an accident..." Fade away into incoherent mumbling.]
Death-defying co-worker: [Look of surprise, quickly followed by an expression which could be interpreted as dawning shock/horror, or that particular gleam stupid people get in their eyes when they think they're about to make a funny.] "You're not going to do that to the BABY, are you?" [Takes step closer to Mr. G and, not incidentally, the espresso machine.]
Mr. G: [Blink. Blnk blink.] "What? No. Of course not." [voice over internal monologue: What. The. Fuck?? Are you high? You honestly...you think I would...who ARE you?...burn designs into the perfect flesh of my beloved son like some sort of twisted...that's it, it's official, the frothing attachment is too good for the likes of you..." Close up of Mr. G's eyes scanning quickly left and right. Pan around to rest on used chopsticks laying next to half empty stryofoam take-out container "Aha, with those, I can pull your spleen out of your ear. I think I have no choice. I hate you."]
Soon to be spleenless co-worker: "Oh, hahah, yeah. Anyway, I'm having some trouble with my email, and I was wondering if you..."
[Fade to black over co-worker yammering and Mr. G slowly edging towards chopsticks.]
At least, that's how it went in my mind.
Who the FUCK thinks that, just because a parent has body modification, they're are going to fucking BRAND their baby? The hell? Do you see many tattooed babies where you fucking come from, you pompous shit goblin? Yeah, we're JUST the type of people who would take a white-hot bit of metal to our 3 and a half month old baby so that he could be the bad boy of the pre-school play-yard. While we're at it, we're thinking of putting in 2-gauge plugs in his earlobes, a septum ring and a great big Old English font tattoo of "Show me your tits" across his forehead. Yes, our baby wears black clothes. Yes, he has little black booties with a skull and crossbones on them. No, we're not going to cause excruciating pain and permanent disfigurement to the baby we tried so hard to make and whom we love more than life itself. I guess we're just not that hip. Hell, he's not even circumsized. ARGH!