Friday night’s alright for fighting – but it’s even better for stand up. An open mic can hold all the allure a young comedian needs: crush it on stage and you might get stopped in Frary by someone who says “Ah, the comedienne. What brings you to our humble dining hall? Tell me a joke, jester. Dance! Dance I say!”
But recently, doing stand up on campus has become a more popular activity, with as many as five, six people deciding to get up there and show ‘em what they got. And what they got is: a lot of jokes about being Jewish.
Look, I’m talking about myself here. Being Jewish is inherently hilarious! My mom is neurotic, my dad is short, I say things like “I could go for a little nosh,” and no one I know can digest dairy. But I’m starting to realize it’s time to leave the Jew jokes on the shelf. It’s just too easy to fall back on. Everyone already knows I’m Jewish when I get up there (I mean, hello, who else does stand up?), I don’t need to spell it out for them. And I can’t anyway! I don’t speak Hebrew.
I mean, Jesus was the most famous Jew of all time, and you don’t hear him constantly doing impressions of his zayde (who I guess is whoever sired god?). And you know, Jesus did a lot of things right. And just like Jesus had one last passover seder, I’m gonna have one last article. Both will involve unleavened bread and betrayal. From now on, if Jesus wouldn’t do it, then I won’t either. So I will be hanging out with twelve men at a time, but I won’t be making jokes about my cultural identity.
It’s true. I’m hanging up the Jew jokes and reattaching my foreskin. It’s been a fun ride, but it’s time for me to make my exodus.