Puff, puff, give!
Shofar Makes for Surprisingly Good Bong
To their collective surprise, Ohr Ateed Yeshiva students Moishe Zigfeld, Jeremy Katzberg, and Mickey Chankobowitz discovered that the congregational shofar, the ancient and sacred instrument of the Jewish faith, makes for a surprisingly effective bong. The idea, suggested by Moishe, Rabbi Zigfeld’s son, and initially greeted with skepticism, was soon haled as a great success. “At first we all thought it was more of his get-back-at-daddy, sacrilegious bulls–t,” said Katzberg, holding the crescent bugle in both hands and exhaling a cloud of aromatic smoke. “But Ziggy came through big time. This Shofar has a solid pull and the ram’s horn surface gives each puff a smooth, rich texture.”
Amid mounting paranoia over being discovered smoking marijuana behind the bimah, an argument ensued over whose turn it was to “sound” the shofar. “Don’t be hoggin’ the shofar, man,” Zigfeld cautioned Katzberg, “puff-puff, give!” The dispute soon dissipated, however, when Zigfeld became enraptured by the patterns of his tzit-tzit.
His bloodshot eyes glazing over in blissful euphoria, Chankobowitz happily packed the shofar with another pungent load of kind bud. He then informed Zigfeld that the holy object, whose blast is said to have destroyed the walls of Jericho, “gets me higher than your sister’s hemline,” causing the trio to giggle uncontrollably. At press time none of the three had made plans to atone for their desecration.
Privileged Jew Proclaims Hard Knock Life
Gesticulating wildly with his dazzlingly bejeweled fingers, privileged suburban Jew Yossi Finkelbaum announced his street credentials to fellow incoming freshmen at a Friday night “Welcome New Freshmen” Hillel seder.
“Yo, it was hard growing up in the hood,” said Finkelbaum, a lifelong resident of exclusive gated community Unicorn Meadows. “It’s a miracle the Y-jigga is still livin’ and breathin’,” added the sheltered suburbanite, whose one nervous foray into a low-income neighborhood ended in terrified flight and soiled Tommy Hillfiger underwear when a local resident asked him for the time.
Clad in baggy Mecca Jeans and a billowing, orange “Enyce” T-shirt, purchased at River Valley Mall with his parents’ bling-bling, Finkelbaum waxed lyrical on the hardships of his past. “Check it. Mah pops had to sling rocks to make ends meet.” Finkelbaum’s father, Maury, is a successful, high-end diamond jeweler.
“Y’all don’t know what it is to grow up with a Smith & Wesson in one hand and a bottle of Colt 45 in the other,” concluded Finkelbaum, pouring a sip of Manischevitz onto the concrete in honor of his fallen homies. Though he believes a college degree is unnecessary in his case, having been educated in the school of “hard knocks,” Finkelbaum will nonetheless be majoring in art history this fall, with a minor in classical dance appreciation.
