Are You Kosher? (22 page)

“Go out to the shed right now and get that big stake and plunge it into my heart because it would hurt a lot less than what you just said.” She turned and stormed off to her room, speaking to herself in Hebrew.

I was left to clean up, which was a lot better than carrying on this conversation for another moment.

A couple of months later, my mother had resurfaced. Apparently she had gone to Ethiopia with some friends to do some sightseeing and to look at the dark-skinned men. She just never bothered to tell anyone. This was fine with me because Bubbe had someone else to be mad at for the time being.

I had continued my friendship with Samson but was in no hurry to bring him back to the house for dinner. One night, the two of us went out for drinks and he got himself completely and totally, sickeningly drunk. I brought him home because my house was closer, and I did not feel comfortable letting him ride a camel in his condition: Public Service Announcement: Friends don’t let friends drink and ride camels.

Back to Samson and that night. We snuck into the house and I warned him to be very quiet so as to not wake my mother or Bubbe. I told him that I would get him up early so that the alter kocker would never even know he was there. I made up the sofa and he was out cold before his head hit the pillow. I went to my room.

Shortly before sunrise, I was awakened to a bloodcurdling scream that sounded like someone was trying to cut off a cat’s tail with a butter knife. I ran as quickly as I could to the living room to find Samson standing with his hands on his head, a freshly crew-cut head, and Bubbe sitting in her favorite chair just beyond him, a smile of victory on her face and a huge mound of hair in her lap that she was braiding neatly together.

“What did you do?” he cried, pointing at her. “I was never supposed to cut it!” Tears welled in his eyes.

“Stop crying, you little faygelah,” she answered dismissively. “That little shiksa will still like you; it looks good. Izzy, doesn’t it look good?” Samson turned to me and said, “I can’t believe that you would let this happen! I’m vulnerable now!” How the hell was this my fault?

“Stop being such a drama queen,” Bubbe said calmly, continuing to braid. “Give me a minute and you can take your hair with you.” She began humming to herself.

Samson turned to her and yelled louder at her than any man ever has and lived to tell the story: “I hate you, Mrs. Glassman!”

Bubbe threw the hair on the floor and replied, “Don’t you take that tone with me, you little pisher! I only did what your mother should have done years ago.”

“I can’t believe this!” he wailed and ran from our house, crying uncontrollably. I followed him as far as the door and watched as his silhouette disappeared in the early dawn light. I closed the door behind me and looked at Bubbe in utter shock. I could not believe that the old broad had actually done it.

“Don’t look at me,” she said, noticing the glare. “I told you what would happen if he did not clean up his act before coming into my house again. Besides, you have to admit that he was being a bit of a drama queen.” She stood up and gathered his hair and dropped it into a knitting basket. “Give it back to him when you see him again. Now come, I’ll make you some breakfast.”

A few weeks later, he was captured by the Philistines and was subsequently killed trying to defend himself.

“So I suppose that this is my fault?” Bubbe asked defensively when I told her the news.

“Well, I did tell you what he said regarding his hair.”

“That’s right!” she yelled, throwing her hands in the air, “I give up! Do you know that? I give up! It’s always my fault! Why do I try to do nice things for people?” she asked as she stormed to her room, once again speaking to herself in Hebrew.

I don’t know about you, but I just got an eye twitch.

Chapter 40

Vampires Are Bloodthirsty Monsters

This is one of those misconceptions that actually has some truth behind it. In fact, I can see why many mortals would believe this one. Let’s face it, vampires do drink the blood of mortals, or feast as I like to call it. We need to for our own survival. We do hunt down unsuspecting prey, and when all is said and done, being immortal is not exactly what you would call natural. But for the most part, we are not monsters, at least the Jewish ones. I can’t speak for goy vampires, I don’t know that many of them, but the few that I do know have always seemed a little odd to me.

As far as being monsters is concerned and the true nature of our existence, that is a bit of a touchy and closely guarded secret. If my mother, Bubbe, or any of my friends found out that I told you … let’s just say, in the words of Ricky Ricardo, “I gotta lotta ’splainin’ to do.” So whatever you do, please let’s keep this between us.

You all know the story of Adam and Eve, the first couple on earth. Eve was tricked by the serpent, ate the fruit, and convinced Adam to do the same. It all went downhill from there. Don’t be too hard on Adam, though. Try to put yourself in his position. It was not like he had a whole lot of options, she was the only woman around; that meant that she had all of the power, if you know what I mean.

I can see it now, Eve lying there naked on the ground, Adam as horny as a billy goat, and she gave him a very simple choice: Eat the fruit or start getting reacquainted with your hand. What would you do? I thought so. Don’t judge. Anyway, Adam ate the fruit, got laid that evening and evicted the next morning, and to add insult to injury, had sin enter into humanity through his seed. That had better have been the best-tasting fruit that anyone has ever put in his mouth, or the best lay in the history of the world.

With sin comes imperfection and with imperfection comes genetic hiccups, and that’s where vampires come in.

One of Adam’s great-great-great grandsons on Cain’s side, named Menachem, found himself mesmerized by all things concerning blood. He was born with a genetic defect that caused him to seek it, to crave it as a source of food. Sorry to disappoint anyone that was under the impression that vampires are a direct result of black magic, or that you were going to hear about pentagrams, or the worshiping of Satan. It’s just not true. Vampires, for all intents and purposes, are mutants, although Menachem did have quite the lovely collection of snakes. I believe he even started the first wholesale distribution network. The first Jewish entrepreneur.

He feasted for years, unbeknownst to anyone, on the blood of animals, but there was always something missing. They lacked seasoning, I guess. As the legend has it, he was in full coitus with a tasty little slave girl one night, and in the heat of passion and the pounding of her heart and veins, he lost control of himself. Maybe it was curiosity, maybe she was just so beautiful that he could not resist, or perhaps it was because he was a really twisted fuck. Whatever the case may be, he sunk his teeth deep into her violently and drank long and hard. He bled her completely dry, killing the poor girl. This was a monstrous thing to do, but it reaped some amazing side effects.

In the days that followed, Menachem realized that he had more energy than he had ever had before. He felt stronger, his senses were more attuned to everything around him, and the most remarkable thing was that at night, he was impervious to pain. Sometimes mutations are a good thing. Stop cheering, Darwinists. Your turn is coming.

Menachem continued to feast about once every other week, each time leaving a dead girl in his wake. He felt bad about it, but he loved the feeling of power that it was giving him. Over the course of a year, he began to learn more things about this newfound gift of his. He could slightly alter his appearance, he could accomplish tasks that no other person in that area was able to, and he eventually came to the conclusion that this act of feasting was making him immortal. As others continued to age around him, he stayed young. This was a power that could not be ignored, and he liked the fact that he was the only one who possessed it. I’m sure he may have had his moments when he wondered if there were others, but that is not exactly something that you can bring up in conversation. “Hi, I’m Menachem. Do you want to go drink some blood?” See, it doesn’t sound good. It was a discovery that he made by accident and it was going to have to remain his little secret.

As the years passed and those of his youth continued to grow old and die around him, he was forced to live the life of a hermit since he had not yet fully mastered the art of changing his appearance. The life of a loner was not agreeing with him, and he decided to take in a shepherd’s daughter named Sarah as his wife. The way the story has always been told to me, Sarah was a thoroughly miserable little bitch that drove him even more crazy than loneliness had, but she was attractive, so he tolerated her. He never divulged the true nature of his existence to her. Rather, he would sneak away from his home from time to time to feast. As the saying goes, “Beauty fades, but a pain the tuchas can last a lifetime.” Not for Menachem. He had grown tired of her mood swings, her constant nagging, the criticisms over everything, her bizarre sense of superiority. He had had enough and it was time for a divorce, vampire style.

The two of them went out one evening under the guise of enjoying a sunset picnic. Menachem could be so romantic. They ate, they drank, and they soon found themselves in the grip of passion. They rolled around naked in the setting light of the sun, and Menachem went in for the kill. He sunk his teeth deep into her and drank harder than he had ever done before. His intent was to bleed her dry like so many before her when he developed a case of the dry heaves. Maybe it was because of the hot, dry air. Perhaps he had allergies, or maybe it was due to the fact that she was too bitter for even him to swallow. Whatever the case, he wound up spitting some blood back into her. She lay there, seemingly lifeless beneath him, so he assumed that she was dead, or close to it, and that is how he left her: naked, bloody, and dying. I think that he still finished shtuping her, though. After all, he wasn’t a faygelah.

A couple of days later, while he was sitting down to a quiet dinner, his first quiet one in some time, the door opened and in came Sarah, still naked, but oblivious to what had happened between the two of them. The only thing that gave any hint of what actually had happened was a couple of marks on her neck that could have been very easily confused with mosquito bites. There was something else different about her, though. She was acting very odd, much the same as he remembered doing before his conversion. He watched her for a few days and feasted on her again, this time not taking out so much and intentionally returning some of what he had taken. In a few weeks, she was a vampire. The mixture of his blood and hers proved to be the catalyst to her conversion. This was a revelation to him and he shared this discovery with Sarah.

The two of them proceeded to experiment on many of the local farmers. Hundreds were converted to vampirism, including Tsvi and Bubbe. The ‘”Menachem Method” had been born.

This was an exciting time for Menachem. He claimed that it was the dawning of a new age, that they would be able to feast on whomever they wanted, whenever they wanted, but they had to be discreet about it. If they were not careful, they would all be discovered for who they were and that could cause problems. Recognition breeds fear, fear breeds panic, and panic could mean death to all of them. It was decided that feasting was fine, but the act of converting someone to our kind was to be strictly regulated. Everyone was in agreement except for Tsvi, but I’ve spoken enough about that shmendrik. The only problem with Menachem’s new paradise was that Sarah was back to her old tricks, driving him crazy. She was making his life an immortal hell.

I think that the only thing that was keeping him from once again trying to kill her was that he was convinced that they were not only immortal, but invulnerable. How could he possibly do it? The other was that for all of her kvetching, she was a dynamo in the sack and everyone knows that sex is a Jewish woman’s least favorite activity, especially after you marry her. He knew they were stuck together for eternity, but once again, luck would play a part in his discoveries about our kind.

The two of them were home alone and he was carving stakes out of some local wood to use as borders for a little garden he wanted to plant when she came out onto the porch to kvetch for a change. She was going on about how the other female vampires had nice things, their husbands did more than just sit around carving wood, they went on nice vacations. He couldn’t take it anymore, something in him had finally snapped. He was content to keep to himself. He had no use for any of those things, especially non-stop kvetching.
No blow job is worth this
, he must have thought to himself just before he sprang to his feet and plunged the stake deep into her chest. She collapsed in a heap and it was quite obvious to him what he had done; he had actually killed her. Piercing her heart was the answer.
How could I not have figured that one out?
I’m sure he asked himself. He looked down at her bleeding body and even in her last moments on earth, she was still the bitch that she’d lived her life as.

“You better … clean up … this mess … you meshuganah—” She died on the porch.

It was a great moment for Menachem, but also the beginning of the end for him. He told people that he had discovered the vampires’ weak spot by accident and now they all had to be more careful because they were immortal, not invincible. With this knowledge, though, came those who liked to experiment and many discovered that they did not have to feast so often; they could live life basically the way they had before, eating what they wanted, when they wanted—except for the kosher ones, of course.

His grip on the people fading away, Menachem decided that he was much happier when he was living the life of a hermit, so he decided to leave. He told everyone that he would travel north to a land that he could make his own, where he would be left to himself, and where a Jewish vampire could live free of discrimination. That land was Germany.

What can I say? He always was a bit short-sided.

Nonetheless, I hope that this has cleared up a few things about the origins of vampires. I hope that you are not too disappointed; sometimes the true stories can do that to people. As you can see, vampires are bloodthirsty, but in no way are we monsters. We love our families and friends just as much as you do. We have opinions the same as everyone else, we love to sit down to a really good meal, and who doesn’t like a great roll in the hay?

The Menachem Method is used to this day, and with very few exceptions, the victim never dies from it.

I can hear the music playing next door. Bubbe is not going to be pleased about this. She just finally stopped her constant complaining about our new neighbors, and their playing loud music on the Sabbath is really going to set her off. You know what? This is actually a pretty good story. Allow me to tell you about the couple next door.