Boy, that bar mitzvah really looked like something, eh? You know, the one by the long-ass pool in that guy’s backyard? They put up all kinds of fancy lights and brought in all these celebrities—nothing like in my day, lemme tell you. These kids really have no respect for the culture. They think they can just put up American flags, invite their friends, and call it a bar mitzvah? Don’t even get me started on the fireworks. DON’T GET ME FUCKING STARTED.
Li’l ol’ Barron’s party at the Capitol last week—that’s the shit I’m talking about. All his friends came to see him, rushing through whatever rent-a-cop security his hired—back when me and my folk were doing bar mitzvahs, they couldn’t stop us, no. I used to have this friend, Via Getty… now Getty was a real sonovabitch. He stole Exodus from right under the rabbi’s nose, framed the part warning against stealing. (Wonder what Getty’s up to these days. Last I heard, round high school graduation, he was going off to some Colorado School of Mimes. Guess he’s a mime now?) A good party back then always had some broken glass; I thought these liberals found some fire in them back in June, but now they’ve gone all soft again.
Oh, but the legs on that rabbi—now that’s a view I’ll never forget. Where was I? Ah, this asshole’s bar mitzvah. Listen—I was fine with this Joe Biting fellow until he started lying about his age. You really think that prune’s thirteen? Does he think he’s fooled us? Look, I’ll give him the $18 gift card, maybe even a $36 one, but it’s not going to be to a good store. You tell him that, okay? He can look out for a letter with a $36 gift card to the damn Four Seasons, to friggin’ Dick’s Sporting Goods. He can buy himself a rake or something.