A quick glance in the mirror and he realises he is in danger of becoming Woody Allen - without the comedy, wealth, women, fame and genius.
He had reached a real dry spell in his life. The doctor didn’t know how to diagnose the problem. He said it was the first time he had used the word ‘drought’ to describe a person’s sex life. He knows it was just the doctor’s polite way of saying he hadn’t been laid in a while, and he was in total agreement. He had been telling people that he was involuntarily celibate for quite a while. It seemed the most appropriate term for what he was going through. Is it possible for your virginity to grow back? If not used for a while, will it eventually shrivel up and go back inside? These were the questions he found himself asking on a daily basis. It was a worrying time for the young man.
He did start to think that things were looking up at one point. Due to unforeseen circumstances, he had recently moved from the ever so rainy Manchester, to the even colder and wetter Nottingham - but it had been made abundantly clear that there was a 4:1 ratio of women to men in Nottingham - so things weren’t all that bad, he thought. He would love to meet the statistician who composed that data. If that is in fact the case, why would the best part of his day right now be a woman sneezing on him, because despite the awkwardness of the situation, a conversation may develop and they would have something funny to tell the children? There had been no such luck.
The closest he had been to a date in recent months was when he and a complete unknown got caught up in one of those really uncomfortable street situations. It was the one where two complete strangers are trying to brush past each other, but find they are attempting to walk in exactly the same direction, repeatedly. He avoided such embarrassment by making a quick witted comment. “Don’t worry about it, you are a better dancer than my last date!” he said. If only this woman didn’t have a noticeable Adam’s apple and legs hairier than his, it could have been his window for romance.
So where was he going wrong? Was he giving out the wrong vibes to women (repelled them), or just simply going out of style (ugly)? He would have to overcome these obstacles, and fast. He had started a few self-help plans that were going okay. Swimming once a week allowed him to maintain a balanced diet of eating and drinking utter ‘rubbish’ throughout the week, but he found that attending a biweekly yoga class in order to meet eligible females wasn’t such a wise idea. It became apparent after just one class that he didn’t have the foggiest idea what he was doing - and it made him feel like that humiliating uncle who, at functions, tries to break dance to 80’s hip-hop, but clearly is out of his depth and just looks ridiculous.
So has it become more difficult to meet the right woman (well, any woman really)? Or has he just been missing such obvious signs? Have they been pointing out that he has quite clearly hit a brick wall in this juncture of his sex life, and that he needs to make some personal changes? It doesn’t help matters for the young man that a fairly brutal rivalry has emerged between his hairline and forehead, in which each is pushing for new territory. At present the forehead is slowly pushing the other back - and soon, if not careful, a victory may be declared. That will really kill any remaining confidence he has left.
There was one thing that had been bugging him as of late. It was Woody Allen. The man, in his mid twenties, could not grasp how Mr Allen, who for four decades, had had a string of beautiful women lining up to be his other half (e.g. Mia Farrow, Diane Keaton...). If you take away his cinematic and theatrical successes, what would be left is a man, who in everyday life, would be hanging from the school railings by his underwear, and would be forfeiting his dinner money to the class bullies. But, the man seems to be untouchable in Hollywood. Who else in the public eye would be allowed to bed down each night with his adopted daughter?
So it has hit him. Of course it doesn’t matter what the person looks like. Woody Allen has had no problem convincing the world of that. Despite his awkward demeanour and fidgety tendencies, Allen has proved that an extremely clever comedic brain and an ability to turn one’s dorky self image into a cultural phenomenon, is all that’s important. So now there is a new game plan. Get funny before you get ugly, and become interesting before you find yourself being just another balding, yet aspiring harlequin.
For the young man in question, I wouldn’t usually be so sympathetic, apart from he is me.
Saturday, 5 December 2009
Thursday, 1 October 2009
The Funny Side of Adolf Hitler
The Funny Side of Adolf Hitler
Don’t believe everything you hear in History lessons at
school. For many years, children have been brought up to
believe that Christopher Columbus discovered America in 1492;
that the Battle of Hastings was fought between French and
English armies in 1066; and that on April 30th, 1945, Adolf
Hitler and his recent wife, Eva Braun, had committed suicide
in a German bunker - due to the imminent threat of Soviet
troops capturing the Reich Chancellery. Children can be safe
in the knowledge that the first two events most certainly took
place. However, when it came to the story surrounding Hitler’s
death – information was tweaked, facts were distorted or
dismissed - and the truth was subsequently lost. Now, over
half a century later, I think it is about time that the truth
be known.
Adolf Hitler certainly never died in any German bunker - nor
was it the year of 1945. Did you really think the Jewish
community would allow him to get off so easily? In fact,
Hitler was captured by the Jews in 1945, and in the years
following, was subjected to what could only be described as
Jewish retribution. It came in the form of embarrassing tasks
and humiliating experiments - intended to simply wind Hitler
up, make him look a prat and make the Jews giggle
uncontrollably. It was a daring move but was very typical of
their comedic personalities at the time. Of course the Nazi
Party denied all claims. Can you imagine the shame of finding
out the führer is being made to look like a complete schmuck?
The initiative was to be appropriately named Operation: Let
Hitler know what it’s like to be a Jew. They opted for a name
that was both cryptic and subtle. One notable occasion
involved Hitler being told to sing his rendition of the
Dreidel Song in Hebrew, whilst a packed audience at the Bowery
Ballroom simply heckled and threw rubbish at him – until he
fell off his unicycle. The Jews always did have a fantastic
sense of humour. Ordering Hitler to march through the centre
of Manhattan butt-naked, wearing only a brightly-coloured
yarmulke and equipped with nothing but a set of juggling
balls, was a priceless moment. It was utterly brutal but also
hilarious. It was to go down in Jewish folklore.
By the time 1955 swung around, the majority of Europe was
slowly starting to recover from the war and Adolf Hitler had
endured a decade of torturous laughter – quite literally.
There were days in which he would undergo hours of feettickling
to the point of submission - whilst being read longwinded
excerpts from the Torah. The Jews were not one bit
sympathetic. This was made abundantly clear in 1953, after a
Jewish TV channel commissioned festive re-runs of The
Screwball Antics of Adolf Hitler and Three Reichs and You’re
Out. Both shows were introduced shortly after the war had
ended, and showed Adolf Hitler himself, victimized in various
witty sketch shows. Some memorable sketches were Hitler
attending Rabbi School and Hitler having to meet his new
Jewish girlfriend’s parents (of which both had fled mainland
Europe during the First World War). It was clearly becoming
unbearable for him. How much longer he could take was yet to
be seen.
To mark the 10th year anniversary of what had been a
celebratory decade for the Jews, it was announced that Adolf
Hitler would undergo one final test whilst under Jewish rule.
It would also see Hitler having to make the most important
decision in his life. He would have a choice as to either live
out the remainder of his life imprisoned in America and have
the world know that the Jews reduced him to nothing; or have
the world believe that he did in fact commit suicide in 1945
and then ultimately reach his demise, in the form of capital
punishment.
It was a highly publicised event, which saw millions of Jews
nationwide tuning in to capture Adolf Hitler at his weakest.
The newspapers nicknamed the occasion Happy Hanukkah Hitler.
It would see him playing host to a number of guests in the
scenario of a festive dinner party. The event was to be
broadcast live and would seek the help of five popular Jewish
entertainers, in which to be Hitler’s special guests. By 1955,
Jewish comedy had became particularly prevalent within the US,
so finding willing participants wasn’t too difficult. Among
the volunteers were Groucho Marx, Mel Brooks, Lenny Bruce, a
young Woody Allen and Harry Houdini. Nobody was quite sure why
Houdini had signed up, but people just presumed he had an
ulterior motive. In the period prior, television and radio
sales had soared through the roof. I don’t think there was one
Jew in the country that was going to miss the biggest event in
the Jewish calendar. Even Jewish vagrants were gathering
around store windows jostling for prime position.
Despite the humorous undertones surrounding the whole
occasion, the organisers went to great lengths to ensure the
event maintained its traditional Jewish values. The menorah
was lit accordingly, a handful of festive songs were sung both
by the guests and a disgruntled Hitler – and a “playful”
undertaking of the dreidel game had resulted - after a tipsy
Lenny Bruce challenged a sober Adolf Hitler to a showdown. In
fact, Lenny Bruce was totally smashed by this point and had
forgotten the reason why he had attended the dinner party in
the first place. Harry Houdini never looked at all comfortable
- and throughout the dinner he seemed very fidgety. The same
couldn’t be said about Allen, Marx and Brooks. The three
absolutely hit it off, and as the night wore on, Marx’s
uncanny impressions of Hitler had the rest in stitches. The
greasepaint moustache and large eyebrows just added to the
comedy. Hitler was not at all amused. He was becoming
extremely restless and it didn’t help his self-esteem that he
was made to wear nothing but a pair of briefs for dinner.
It was when Woody Allen performed a bit he had rehearsed -
about a young, Austrian-born, self-loathing artist, who likes
nothing more than to hurt small animals – that Hitler
completely snapped. ‘KILL ME, KILL ME NOW!’ screamed Hitler,
whilst standing up in just his underwear. Around the room all
conversations came to a halt. The cameras were still rolling
but there was complete silence. All of a sudden the guests,
the cameraman and even the lighting crew burst into laughter.
It was reported that Woody Allen was quite literally rolling
around the floor in tears and that Lenny Bruce was also lying
on the floor. He was just intoxicated though. When all the
laughter finally stopped, Groucho Marx pulled out a whopping
big Cigar and began to puff away. It was at this point that
Allen noticed Houdini had slipped out the side door, amidst
all the laughter.
Don’t believe everything you hear in History lessons at
school. For many years, children have been brought up to
believe that Christopher Columbus discovered America in 1492;
that the Battle of Hastings was fought between French and
English armies in 1066; and that on April 30th, 1945, Adolf
Hitler and his recent wife, Eva Braun, had committed suicide
in a German bunker - due to the imminent threat of Soviet
troops capturing the Reich Chancellery. Children can be safe
in the knowledge that the first two events most certainly took
place. However, when it came to the story surrounding Hitler’s
death – information was tweaked, facts were distorted or
dismissed - and the truth was subsequently lost. Now, over
half a century later, I think it is about time that the truth
be known.
Adolf Hitler certainly never died in any German bunker - nor
was it the year of 1945. Did you really think the Jewish
community would allow him to get off so easily? In fact,
Hitler was captured by the Jews in 1945, and in the years
following, was subjected to what could only be described as
Jewish retribution. It came in the form of embarrassing tasks
and humiliating experiments - intended to simply wind Hitler
up, make him look a prat and make the Jews giggle
uncontrollably. It was a daring move but was very typical of
their comedic personalities at the time. Of course the Nazi
Party denied all claims. Can you imagine the shame of finding
out the führer is being made to look like a complete schmuck?
The initiative was to be appropriately named Operation: Let
Hitler know what it’s like to be a Jew. They opted for a name
that was both cryptic and subtle. One notable occasion
involved Hitler being told to sing his rendition of the
Dreidel Song in Hebrew, whilst a packed audience at the Bowery
Ballroom simply heckled and threw rubbish at him – until he
fell off his unicycle. The Jews always did have a fantastic
sense of humour. Ordering Hitler to march through the centre
of Manhattan butt-naked, wearing only a brightly-coloured
yarmulke and equipped with nothing but a set of juggling
balls, was a priceless moment. It was utterly brutal but also
hilarious. It was to go down in Jewish folklore.
By the time 1955 swung around, the majority of Europe was
slowly starting to recover from the war and Adolf Hitler had
endured a decade of torturous laughter – quite literally.
There were days in which he would undergo hours of feettickling
to the point of submission - whilst being read longwinded
excerpts from the Torah. The Jews were not one bit
sympathetic. This was made abundantly clear in 1953, after a
Jewish TV channel commissioned festive re-runs of The
Screwball Antics of Adolf Hitler and Three Reichs and You’re
Out. Both shows were introduced shortly after the war had
ended, and showed Adolf Hitler himself, victimized in various
witty sketch shows. Some memorable sketches were Hitler
attending Rabbi School and Hitler having to meet his new
Jewish girlfriend’s parents (of which both had fled mainland
Europe during the First World War). It was clearly becoming
unbearable for him. How much longer he could take was yet to
be seen.
To mark the 10th year anniversary of what had been a
celebratory decade for the Jews, it was announced that Adolf
Hitler would undergo one final test whilst under Jewish rule.
It would also see Hitler having to make the most important
decision in his life. He would have a choice as to either live
out the remainder of his life imprisoned in America and have
the world know that the Jews reduced him to nothing; or have
the world believe that he did in fact commit suicide in 1945
and then ultimately reach his demise, in the form of capital
punishment.
It was a highly publicised event, which saw millions of Jews
nationwide tuning in to capture Adolf Hitler at his weakest.
The newspapers nicknamed the occasion Happy Hanukkah Hitler.
It would see him playing host to a number of guests in the
scenario of a festive dinner party. The event was to be
broadcast live and would seek the help of five popular Jewish
entertainers, in which to be Hitler’s special guests. By 1955,
Jewish comedy had became particularly prevalent within the US,
so finding willing participants wasn’t too difficult. Among
the volunteers were Groucho Marx, Mel Brooks, Lenny Bruce, a
young Woody Allen and Harry Houdini. Nobody was quite sure why
Houdini had signed up, but people just presumed he had an
ulterior motive. In the period prior, television and radio
sales had soared through the roof. I don’t think there was one
Jew in the country that was going to miss the biggest event in
the Jewish calendar. Even Jewish vagrants were gathering
around store windows jostling for prime position.
Despite the humorous undertones surrounding the whole
occasion, the organisers went to great lengths to ensure the
event maintained its traditional Jewish values. The menorah
was lit accordingly, a handful of festive songs were sung both
by the guests and a disgruntled Hitler – and a “playful”
undertaking of the dreidel game had resulted - after a tipsy
Lenny Bruce challenged a sober Adolf Hitler to a showdown. In
fact, Lenny Bruce was totally smashed by this point and had
forgotten the reason why he had attended the dinner party in
the first place. Harry Houdini never looked at all comfortable
- and throughout the dinner he seemed very fidgety. The same
couldn’t be said about Allen, Marx and Brooks. The three
absolutely hit it off, and as the night wore on, Marx’s
uncanny impressions of Hitler had the rest in stitches. The
greasepaint moustache and large eyebrows just added to the
comedy. Hitler was not at all amused. He was becoming
extremely restless and it didn’t help his self-esteem that he
was made to wear nothing but a pair of briefs for dinner.
It was when Woody Allen performed a bit he had rehearsed -
about a young, Austrian-born, self-loathing artist, who likes
nothing more than to hurt small animals – that Hitler
completely snapped. ‘KILL ME, KILL ME NOW!’ screamed Hitler,
whilst standing up in just his underwear. Around the room all
conversations came to a halt. The cameras were still rolling
but there was complete silence. All of a sudden the guests,
the cameraman and even the lighting crew burst into laughter.
It was reported that Woody Allen was quite literally rolling
around the floor in tears and that Lenny Bruce was also lying
on the floor. He was just intoxicated though. When all the
laughter finally stopped, Groucho Marx pulled out a whopping
big Cigar and began to puff away. It was at this point that
Allen noticed Houdini had slipped out the side door, amidst
all the laughter.
Am I German?
Am I German? I’m led to believe I am
An email in my inbox reads ‘Congratulations Darren! Your Great-Grandfather Jürgen Arndt Low has died and left you his entire fortune. Please call immediately to claim your inheritance!’ Oh okay then.
It has always been something that has fascinated me - the mystery of the Junk Email that seems to find its way so effortlessly into my inbox, and is so persistent in doing so. Usually things this trivial or ridiculous have never grabbed my attention. The newspaper supplements that include a free scratch card, 100% guaranteed to win - they have never done anything for me. I think I have enough Parker Pens and cheap tacky alarm clocks to last me a lifetime. If I thought for a second there was a chance of winning that dream holiday to Mauritius, or the elegant 4-door saloon with the beautiful blonde draped all over, then maybe I would reconsider.
The emails however, I find it so perplexing how they always seem to be so personal and clued in to my life. ‘Feeling lonely Darren? Single? Well find out what girls live close to you in Nottingham’. Single is a very strong word and how do they know where I live? ‘Still having money problems? Want to earn £300-a-day at home? ‘Nail on the head’ springs to mind but can’t be legal. The best one yet was ‘Darren, fancy winning a lifetime supply of Viagra?’ Oh great, in a short amount of time I have become a Nottingham based singleton with terminal impotency and a severe amount of debt. Well if they are my problems, it shouldn’t really be anybody else’s business.
I have a strict routine in the morning. Apart from the usual duties, I will always check my email(s). This is in case overnight I have became incredibly popular, and have a string of beautiful women just waiting to hear back from me. In reality, what I’m actually doing is checking what bull**** spam I’ve received that day. For the unknowing, Spam mail is just worthless junk that somehow successfully invades my personal life. This day was no different - more offers of Viagra and debt solutions to tie me over. Unexpectedly, whilst I was filtering out the Junk from the useful, I came across one email that seemed to stand out from the rest. It read ‘Congratulations Darren! Your Great-Grandfather Jürgen Arndt Low has died and left you his entire fortune. Please call immediately to claim your inheritance!’
My initial reaction came in three separate stages: - (1) Who is this extremely wealthy, German-sounding Great-Grandfather of mine? And does that mean that I in turn am actually part German? (2) This email must be complete poppycock because I don’t believe my parents have failed to mention this man to me in all this time. (3) How rich are we talking?
Despite the clever selection of wording that had been used in the message, in which both my Christian name and surname had been slyly yet cunningly included to try and lure me - and the fact that they congratulated me on the death of a relative - there is a good reason why they call it Spam. It is probably because afterwards, you are left with a bitter and unpleasant taste in your mouth, plus a need to know who the mystery creator of such a processed and phony product actually is. I don’t think I’ll ever find those answers; but this is one man that has no need for what they are trying to sell me. Well, maybe one of the things.
An email in my inbox reads ‘Congratulations Darren! Your Great-Grandfather Jürgen Arndt Low has died and left you his entire fortune. Please call immediately to claim your inheritance!’ Oh okay then.
It has always been something that has fascinated me - the mystery of the Junk Email that seems to find its way so effortlessly into my inbox, and is so persistent in doing so. Usually things this trivial or ridiculous have never grabbed my attention. The newspaper supplements that include a free scratch card, 100% guaranteed to win - they have never done anything for me. I think I have enough Parker Pens and cheap tacky alarm clocks to last me a lifetime. If I thought for a second there was a chance of winning that dream holiday to Mauritius, or the elegant 4-door saloon with the beautiful blonde draped all over, then maybe I would reconsider.
The emails however, I find it so perplexing how they always seem to be so personal and clued in to my life. ‘Feeling lonely Darren? Single? Well find out what girls live close to you in Nottingham’. Single is a very strong word and how do they know where I live? ‘Still having money problems? Want to earn £300-a-day at home? ‘Nail on the head’ springs to mind but can’t be legal. The best one yet was ‘Darren, fancy winning a lifetime supply of Viagra?’ Oh great, in a short amount of time I have become a Nottingham based singleton with terminal impotency and a severe amount of debt. Well if they are my problems, it shouldn’t really be anybody else’s business.
I have a strict routine in the morning. Apart from the usual duties, I will always check my email(s). This is in case overnight I have became incredibly popular, and have a string of beautiful women just waiting to hear back from me. In reality, what I’m actually doing is checking what bull**** spam I’ve received that day. For the unknowing, Spam mail is just worthless junk that somehow successfully invades my personal life. This day was no different - more offers of Viagra and debt solutions to tie me over. Unexpectedly, whilst I was filtering out the Junk from the useful, I came across one email that seemed to stand out from the rest. It read ‘Congratulations Darren! Your Great-Grandfather Jürgen Arndt Low has died and left you his entire fortune. Please call immediately to claim your inheritance!’
My initial reaction came in three separate stages: - (1) Who is this extremely wealthy, German-sounding Great-Grandfather of mine? And does that mean that I in turn am actually part German? (2) This email must be complete poppycock because I don’t believe my parents have failed to mention this man to me in all this time. (3) How rich are we talking?
Despite the clever selection of wording that had been used in the message, in which both my Christian name and surname had been slyly yet cunningly included to try and lure me - and the fact that they congratulated me on the death of a relative - there is a good reason why they call it Spam. It is probably because afterwards, you are left with a bitter and unpleasant taste in your mouth, plus a need to know who the mystery creator of such a processed and phony product actually is. I don’t think I’ll ever find those answers; but this is one man that has no need for what they are trying to sell me. Well, maybe one of the things.
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