Matzo Balls and Bazookas
I'm brunching in the East Village late Sunday afternoon, sipping a mimosa and scraping the cheese off my huevos rancheros in a lame attempt to cut calories, when one of my friends casually brings up the increasingly colloquial topic of automatic weapons. "I mean, why would we need automatic weapons?" she chirps, as I enviously eye her adding cheese to her eggs. "Why would anyone need an automatic weapon? Not for hunting. You know, someone should really tell her that you can't eat moose after you shoot it with a bazooka. It's inedible...actually, you can't even find the moose!" She adamantly informs us. We all nod casually in agreement.
"Who wants to eat a moose anyway?" I ask, squinting into the sunlight and trying to generate a picture of a moose in my clouded, hung over brain.
"Fine, a bear!" she settles on, as if this is a better dinner option.
"Unless you just want bear ash with dinner. You can sprinkle him over your baked potato," my other friend suggests, hesitating before she carefully places a forkful of ketchup smeared home fries into her mouth.
"Mix it with your matzo ball soup!" exclaims another, and I note to self that you know a conversation is steering off course when you start making glorified Jewish food references.
"It always has to go back to the matzo balls, doesn't it?"
"What else is there? I mean, really?" she says matter of factly.
We all nod in agreement, and my friend flips her long blonde hair over one shoulder, preparing to backtrack to her original point and highlighting that Jews have perfected pointless diversions. "But I mean, seriously, WHAT is a normal person going to do with a bazooka? Bazooka's are for war...like World War II! That's all. I don't want to walk out of my front door thinking that my neighbor may incinerate me because my 16-year-old is a shitty driver and gave him a midnight lawn job."
"Did you just say 'lawn job'? That's great. What I'd give for a..."
"Yes that's 'lawn job' with an 'L' and a 'W'!"
"Right, um I'm failing to see the differentiation...and I wasn't thinking...whatever. Maybe you should just teach your stupid kid how to drive better?" I say, antagonizing.
"Oh, gotcha. It's my fault I'm blown to shreds on my front porch. Sorry, I got confused for a second," she argues.
"Who wants to eat a moose anyway?" I ask, squinting into the sunlight and trying to generate a picture of a moose in my clouded, hung over brain.
"Fine, a bear!" she settles on, as if this is a better dinner option.
"Unless you just want bear ash with dinner. You can sprinkle him over your baked potato," my other friend suggests, hesitating before she carefully places a forkful of ketchup smeared home fries into her mouth.
"Mix it with your matzo ball soup!" exclaims another, and I note to self that you know a conversation is steering off course when you start making glorified Jewish food references.
"It always has to go back to the matzo balls, doesn't it?"
"What else is there? I mean, really?" she says matter of factly.
We all nod in agreement, and my friend flips her long blonde hair over one shoulder, preparing to backtrack to her original point and highlighting that Jews have perfected pointless diversions. "But I mean, seriously, WHAT is a normal person going to do with a bazooka? Bazooka's are for war...like World War II! That's all. I don't want to walk out of my front door thinking that my neighbor may incinerate me because my 16-year-old is a shitty driver and gave him a midnight lawn job."
"Did you just say 'lawn job'? That's great. What I'd give for a..."
"Yes that's 'lawn job' with an 'L' and a 'W'!"
"Right, um I'm failing to see the differentiation...and I wasn't thinking...whatever. Maybe you should just teach your stupid kid how to drive better?" I say, antagonizing.
"Oh, gotcha. It's my fault I'm blown to shreds on my front porch. Sorry, I got confused for a second," she argues.
"But honestly, you know who should for sure NOT have an automatic weapon? Dick Cheney," chimes in my other friend, mute and dazed up to this point. She looks at each of us for reassurance to the most factual opinion statement to date.
"Don't they tell you to wear neon, like, bright colors when you're hunting so your friend doesn't shoot you in the face?" I don't know who is talking because I just heard "shoot you in the face," and I'm frantically searching my memory files to find one that confirms Cheney's friend was shot in the face. I'm coming up short.
"Wait he shot his friend in the face?!" This is me, desperate for confirmation.
"That only works if you aren't a hundred and ten. And seriously, who the hell would want to go hunting with Dick Cheney after he shot his last hunting partner in the face."
"Really, it was in the face?! That's amazing." This is me, again, flabbergasted at my defective memory.
"Didn't he shoot two dudes he went hunting with?"
"Yeah, he shot them both in the face!" Somehow I went from failure to confirm the face shot to bold reassurance that not one, but two, of Dick Cheney's cronies met the shot-in-the-face fate.
"Nooooooo....!" I insist, doubled over in hysterical laughter, which provokes a coughing fit. Now we're all picturing Cheney's second soon-to-be gunshot victim shaking in his boots, already terrified of being mistaken for a quail or deer or whatever then "BANG!" - shot to the face! That's really not funny. But I think, and someone correct me if I'm wrong here because I'm in a hurry and have no time to Wikipedia, that the last time a Vice President shot someone was when Aaron Burr shot Alexander Hamilton. Poor Hamilton died. To my knowledge that was an actual duel; although the legality of dueling at the time was in transition and Burr was tried but acquitted. (This part I'm pretty sure about.) If Cheney's incident was a duel, his buddy was certainly unaware and ill-prepared, so in that case, the dude should NOT have worn neon colors.
Cheney wasn't tried for shooting his friend in the face; although if he were, I think that like Burr, he would have been acquitted. Cheney's incident was an accident. He shot a dude because he's old, has bad eyesight, shaky hands and neurofibrillary tangles. Anyway, a sitting Vice President wouldn't shoot a man. In all honesty, the majority of Americans are a peaceful people who avoid duels and face-shootings. Hell, I even tolerate heavy metal on an occasional Sunday afternoon, which happened to be this Sunday afternoon because Thompson Square Park thinks a great way to kick off your week is to watch a heroine junkie wheeled away on a stretcher while a kiddie scream band blows out your ear drums. But I applaud their, um, courage and am generally open and accepting of Bob Kreutz's favorite phrase "Different strokes for different folks." However, when it comes to automatic weapons, I'm going to have to go with a firm NO. You have to draw the line somewhere because handcuffing someone to a bed or adorning your entire apartment with bobble head dolls is all fun and games until someone's friend gets shot in the face -- and in the case of automatic weapons, when someone's friend is instantaneously reduced to ash.
So, in conclusion, taking preventative measures, like not allowing automatic weapons, might prevent extreme Vice Presidential accidents. Unless the Vice President creates the accident by allowing the automatic weapons...in which case, the Vice President would actually be the accident.
"Don't they tell you to wear neon, like, bright colors when you're hunting so your friend doesn't shoot you in the face?" I don't know who is talking because I just heard "shoot you in the face," and I'm frantically searching my memory files to find one that confirms Cheney's friend was shot in the face. I'm coming up short.
"Wait he shot his friend in the face?!" This is me, desperate for confirmation.
"That only works if you aren't a hundred and ten. And seriously, who the hell would want to go hunting with Dick Cheney after he shot his last hunting partner in the face."
"Really, it was in the face?! That's amazing." This is me, again, flabbergasted at my defective memory.
"Didn't he shoot two dudes he went hunting with?"
"Yeah, he shot them both in the face!" Somehow I went from failure to confirm the face shot to bold reassurance that not one, but two, of Dick Cheney's cronies met the shot-in-the-face fate.
"Nooooooo....!" I insist, doubled over in hysterical laughter, which provokes a coughing fit. Now we're all picturing Cheney's second soon-to-be gunshot victim shaking in his boots, already terrified of being mistaken for a quail or deer or whatever then "BANG!" - shot to the face! That's really not funny. But I think, and someone correct me if I'm wrong here because I'm in a hurry and have no time to Wikipedia, that the last time a Vice President shot someone was when Aaron Burr shot Alexander Hamilton. Poor Hamilton died. To my knowledge that was an actual duel; although the legality of dueling at the time was in transition and Burr was tried but acquitted. (This part I'm pretty sure about.) If Cheney's incident was a duel, his buddy was certainly unaware and ill-prepared, so in that case, the dude should NOT have worn neon colors.
Cheney wasn't tried for shooting his friend in the face; although if he were, I think that like Burr, he would have been acquitted. Cheney's incident was an accident. He shot a dude because he's old, has bad eyesight, shaky hands and neurofibrillary tangles. Anyway, a sitting Vice President wouldn't shoot a man. In all honesty, the majority of Americans are a peaceful people who avoid duels and face-shootings. Hell, I even tolerate heavy metal on an occasional Sunday afternoon, which happened to be this Sunday afternoon because Thompson Square Park thinks a great way to kick off your week is to watch a heroine junkie wheeled away on a stretcher while a kiddie scream band blows out your ear drums. But I applaud their, um, courage and am generally open and accepting of Bob Kreutz's favorite phrase "Different strokes for different folks." However, when it comes to automatic weapons, I'm going to have to go with a firm NO. You have to draw the line somewhere because handcuffing someone to a bed or adorning your entire apartment with bobble head dolls is all fun and games until someone's friend gets shot in the face -- and in the case of automatic weapons, when someone's friend is instantaneously reduced to ash.
So, in conclusion, taking preventative measures, like not allowing automatic weapons, might prevent extreme Vice Presidential accidents. Unless the Vice President creates the accident by allowing the automatic weapons...in which case, the Vice President would actually be the accident.

Read it, loved it and will try my best to live it!
Hey, I'm out of work, I'll take on the job of being your reminder. :)
AND
you owe me an e-mail
Love Frannie
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Thanks for the shout-out to us Jewish folk...Happy New Year to all!
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glad you're back in business & I do love it!!
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Emma you are hilarious!!i love your last entry.you can make like movie shorts out of these stories.can i star in one!! haha!!love you!!!pete xxx
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