- Registrado
- 1 de Jul, 2017
Schlomo Goldstein awoke to a loud rumbling noise and an unbearable heat. Last thing he remembered was seeing a glint of a turbaned man yelling Allahu Akbar. What a rude Palestinian, Schlomo thought to himself. He was just trying to put yarmulkes on dead Palestinian children for the photo-op of murdered Israeli hostages. Those filthy goyim should be thankful he was giving their children anything for free.
When Schlomo opened his eyes, he was shocked--this wasn't Gaza! He was seated strapped in an uncomfortable chair that was plunging deeper and deeper into the darkness.
"Oy vey!" Schlomo exclaimed. It was just like the stories Grandpa Moshe told him about the holocoasters at Auschwitz. Terror welled up inside him as the darkness swallowed him whole. "There's no safety on this ride! When I get off, they're gonna hear from my lawyer about this!"
But the ride never ended. Schlomo wished he'd never volunteered for the IDF, for he KNEW he should've just stayed at his computer posting BLACKED threads on 4chan and help his company separate goyim from their shekels. When the chair came to a halt, Schlomo stepped out in an unbearable heat and sulfur smell, surrounded by a crowd of all sorts of people.
"Goyim!" he recognized them as. All around him were Palestinians and other brown Arabs, but they didn't seem to notice him and formed their own queue. "G-d is protecting me!" Schlomo muttered. As he thought that, he finally stumbled through the crowd long enough to find other Jews. Sweat glistened from their payots and their fur hats looked very uncomfortable in this weather, but they patiently stood in line. To Schlomo's shock he saw Rabbi Chaim Bergstein standing in front of him. "Rabbi Bergstein died 10 years ago!" Schlomo thought to himself. He still remembered attending the rabbi's funeral, sad he would need to find another rabbi an to preside over his son's bris.
"Where are we, Rabbi Bergstein?" Schlomo asked the honored man in front of him.
"We're going to the synagogue, brother," Rabbi Bergstein replied.
"This doesn't look like a synagogue! It's too hot in here! This cannot be kosher!" Schlomo kvetched.
"It is our father's synagogue," the Rabbi said. "Our real father." The Rabbi paid his shekels to the gabbai at the door and walked inside.
Schlomo nearly fainted when he saw the face of the gabbai.
"Oy vey, Elie Wiesel, what are you doing here!"
"You got tickets to the synagogue?" Elie asked.
"Yes sir, Mr. Wiesel, I pay lots of shekels for the best seats at Yom Kippur, Hanukkah, AND Rosh Hashanah, not to mention every shabbat!"
"That's at your synagogue, not our father's," Elie Wiesel said. "I can sell you a ticket if you've got the shekels on you."
Schlomo checked his pockets, turning them inside and out, and to his horror had not a single shekel.
"Oy vey, those goyim took them, Mr. Wiesel! I'll pay you back, I promise!"
"Sorry, sir, you'll have to sit in the guest section, but I'm sure our father will make it up for you."
Schlomo walked in the doors toward the guest section. He nearly suffocated on the sulfur-y fumes, where his eyes and ears and nose and every inch of skin burned as he remained awake.
"I'm definitely calling my lawyer about this, and I will speak to the rabbi personally!"
Schlomo took his seat, waiting for the service to start. His mind buzzed with questions on just who this "father" was everyone kept talking about. All of a sudden, the rabbi walked out to the cheers of the crowd. He had red skin, bloodshot eyes, and pointed horns and a tail. Was he even human?
"I'll have to ask my friend Mr. Harari if The Science created that man," Schlomo thought to himself. "Is he really a rabbi? Maybe Mr. Schwab is making rabbis more efficient!"
"It is I!" the red man said. "Your spiritual father, Satan himself! And today, I will be introducing you to our guest for the week, Adolf Hitler!"
"Oy vey!" the crowd exclaimed in unison as Der Fuhrer stepped out.
"Ja, ja, it is I, Adolf Hitler, your Fuhrer! Heil myself!" Hitler said in glee. "My father, the Lord Jesus Christ, has sent me down her to say hallo! Ve have six million tons of zyklon B to dispose of, and you Juden vill be halping us!"
Schlomo looked around in panic, knowing everything about this wasn't right. He hoped someone, anyone, could help him.
"Sir, can you help me?" Schlomo asked a jittery man rubbing his palms together. "I got shekels, I'll pay you back!"
"Name's Leo Frank, how can I help you?" the man said.
"C-can I get out of here? I've got a lot of money, I know lots of lawyers and bankers!"
"So do I," Frank replied. "But it's no good. We're in here forever, serving our spiritual father Satan himself."
"What!?" Schlomo screamed.
"Get used to it. You're in hell!"
"Oy veeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey!"
End of Chapter I
When Schlomo opened his eyes, he was shocked--this wasn't Gaza! He was seated strapped in an uncomfortable chair that was plunging deeper and deeper into the darkness.
"Oy vey!" Schlomo exclaimed. It was just like the stories Grandpa Moshe told him about the holocoasters at Auschwitz. Terror welled up inside him as the darkness swallowed him whole. "There's no safety on this ride! When I get off, they're gonna hear from my lawyer about this!"
But the ride never ended. Schlomo wished he'd never volunteered for the IDF, for he KNEW he should've just stayed at his computer posting BLACKED threads on 4chan and help his company separate goyim from their shekels. When the chair came to a halt, Schlomo stepped out in an unbearable heat and sulfur smell, surrounded by a crowd of all sorts of people.
"Goyim!" he recognized them as. All around him were Palestinians and other brown Arabs, but they didn't seem to notice him and formed their own queue. "G-d is protecting me!" Schlomo muttered. As he thought that, he finally stumbled through the crowd long enough to find other Jews. Sweat glistened from their payots and their fur hats looked very uncomfortable in this weather, but they patiently stood in line. To Schlomo's shock he saw Rabbi Chaim Bergstein standing in front of him. "Rabbi Bergstein died 10 years ago!" Schlomo thought to himself. He still remembered attending the rabbi's funeral, sad he would need to find another rabbi an to preside over his son's bris.
"Where are we, Rabbi Bergstein?" Schlomo asked the honored man in front of him.
"We're going to the synagogue, brother," Rabbi Bergstein replied.
"This doesn't look like a synagogue! It's too hot in here! This cannot be kosher!" Schlomo kvetched.
"It is our father's synagogue," the Rabbi said. "Our real father." The Rabbi paid his shekels to the gabbai at the door and walked inside.
Schlomo nearly fainted when he saw the face of the gabbai.
"Oy vey, Elie Wiesel, what are you doing here!"
"You got tickets to the synagogue?" Elie asked.
"Yes sir, Mr. Wiesel, I pay lots of shekels for the best seats at Yom Kippur, Hanukkah, AND Rosh Hashanah, not to mention every shabbat!"
"That's at your synagogue, not our father's," Elie Wiesel said. "I can sell you a ticket if you've got the shekels on you."
Schlomo checked his pockets, turning them inside and out, and to his horror had not a single shekel.
"Oy vey, those goyim took them, Mr. Wiesel! I'll pay you back, I promise!"
"Sorry, sir, you'll have to sit in the guest section, but I'm sure our father will make it up for you."
Schlomo walked in the doors toward the guest section. He nearly suffocated on the sulfur-y fumes, where his eyes and ears and nose and every inch of skin burned as he remained awake.
"I'm definitely calling my lawyer about this, and I will speak to the rabbi personally!"
Schlomo took his seat, waiting for the service to start. His mind buzzed with questions on just who this "father" was everyone kept talking about. All of a sudden, the rabbi walked out to the cheers of the crowd. He had red skin, bloodshot eyes, and pointed horns and a tail. Was he even human?
"I'll have to ask my friend Mr. Harari if The Science created that man," Schlomo thought to himself. "Is he really a rabbi? Maybe Mr. Schwab is making rabbis more efficient!"
"It is I!" the red man said. "Your spiritual father, Satan himself! And today, I will be introducing you to our guest for the week, Adolf Hitler!"
"Oy vey!" the crowd exclaimed in unison as Der Fuhrer stepped out.
"Ja, ja, it is I, Adolf Hitler, your Fuhrer! Heil myself!" Hitler said in glee. "My father, the Lord Jesus Christ, has sent me down her to say hallo! Ve have six million tons of zyklon B to dispose of, and you Juden vill be halping us!"
Schlomo looked around in panic, knowing everything about this wasn't right. He hoped someone, anyone, could help him.
"Sir, can you help me?" Schlomo asked a jittery man rubbing his palms together. "I got shekels, I'll pay you back!"
"Name's Leo Frank, how can I help you?" the man said.
"C-can I get out of here? I've got a lot of money, I know lots of lawyers and bankers!"
"So do I," Frank replied. "But it's no good. We're in here forever, serving our spiritual father Satan himself."
"What!?" Schlomo screamed.
"Get used to it. You're in hell!"
"Oy veeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey!"
End of Chapter I
