2006-08-03 - 3:01 a.m.
“Filthy Jews! Oh, how I hate them! The Jews are the ones who start all the wars! I wish all the Jews could be shoved in the oven and roasted, their hair used to make lamps and sweaters, the gold in their teeth melted down cure the budget deficit, their skin rendered into soap and tallow!”
Much to our surprise, the gentleman making disquieting comments very much like these is not Osama Bin Laden. And it is not that loathsome head of Hezbollah, which is raining missiles down upon poor dear Israel. Why, it isn’t even Adolph Hitler, though I am sure the person actually expressing the beliefs is a fine follower of that venerable tyrant and despot.
No, you will be pleased to know that the foul mouthed Anti-Semite heaping such horrendous vituperation against the Chosen Tribe is none other than the Hollywood Golden Boy, Mel Gibson, the apple of Tinseltown’s eye. The man who is worth more money than God, and who has been adopted as the darling of The Religious Right. He who has won more Oscars than you’ve had chicken dinners.
Now he has been unmasked as he truly is -- A demented creature of hate and pathological opinion whose Hollywood career should be destroyed as totally as any demon out of Hell’s. Beneath those cobolt blue, brilliantly flashing eyes lurk the hatreds of a filthy skank slug. Under the stunning dimpled chin can be found the hideous predjudices and loathings of a monster.
If you want proof that the Jews do not actually own Hollywood, you have only to note the ineluctable rise of this man’s career: No Jew would intentionally let a monster of hate like Mister Mel Gibson have a career on the supposedly Loving Left Coast. If the Jews ran the world, as Mister Gibson clearly imagines, he’d be the first person drummed out of the city on a rail. He’d be shipped back to the Outback in a bucket. The rest of his career would be all him on cheeseball commercials, intoning, “Oy mate, put another shrimp in me Barbie.”
Aren’t you embarrassed for having liked MAD MAX and BRAVEHEART now? Don’t you feel sheepish for defending THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST? I realize now that one of my most proud moments was panning Mel Gibson’s godawful directoral debut FOREVER YOUNG back in the early 90s. Boy, was that one appalling movie.
Oh, I just love the story of how Mel Gibson was stopped for speeding along the PCH, cradling a huge bottle of bourbon. And how I giggled when I heard he fought and brawled with the cops who arrested him, warning one guy that he’d “ruin” him and calling the other guy a “filthy jew.” It sounds like he was ranting and raving like a skeezy crackhead, barking and howling filth and imprecations like he was the King and should be allowed special dispensation for being a drunken pig.
And what has also made me laugh is the merry song and dance his publicists have performed in a desperate attempt to first hush up and then contain the damage of the whole bro-haha. It’s amusing that the publicists tried to lean on the cops, almost convincing them to write a “fake” police report claiming that Mister Gibson did not resist arrest, did not spew vitriol against the Jews – in fact, was just out for a little tootle along the road, when some passer by tossed a full bottle of Tequila all over his suit and head.
Now, I shake my head at the so-called “abject apology” that Gibson makes, announcing his plans to enter a recovery facility. Did you hear that? “Anyone who knows me knows that I am not a bigot.” Sure, honey. Look at your lovely father, the Holocaust Denier. Look at the hook nosed villains in The Passion of the Christ. Look at what you did to the only gay guy in Braveheart – you tossed him out the window, didn’t you! And that’s what you’d like to do with every Jew and fag, let alone those of us who are Jewish fags. If it was up to Mel Gibson, what a good thing it would be that we can only die once.
The spin might blot up the stain of the DUI, but it’s not going to do too much good vis-à-vis the anti-semitic stuff. I don’t really know of a recovery facility for hatred and intolerance – unless you count the poorhouse, where he richly deserves to go. And I’ll tell you something: You can believe what you want, but for a minute or two there, the mask of sweetness and the light slipped and we were treated to a brief glimpse of the Real Mel Gibson, monster of hatred and craziness -- not the one who is manipulated and tweaked and glossed over by the gigantic Hollywood machine.
I have to admit that this year have become so fanatically pro-Israel that reasoned discourse with me about the subject will prove impossible. I am frankly just not capable of being objective on the matter. Mind you, even given that I am Pro-Israel to the point of derangement, this should not be interpreted as a statement that I’d like to visit there. What – are you nuts?
But, when talking about this war between Israel and Lebanon, I must tell you that I do not think that Israel can do any wrong. I am strangely appalled by the American news media, which, in its melodramatic way, is focusing on irrelevancies, seemingly in an attempt to paint Israel as being vile aggressors interested in eating babies and chop off the heads of old women. There are all these reports from the Lebanese hospitals, where they show footage of the exhausted doctors telling how the filthy Jews rained bombs down on child care centers, elementary schools, and cute puppy dog shelters, killing with impunity. Like they’re doing it out of spite.
Come on: What you never hear them saying is that Hezbollah is using the schools, the neighborhoods, and the dog kennels as their shields from which they launch their missiles against Israel. Of course they have to destroy the homes – they’re bases, filled with Hezbollah fighters. It makes perfect sense.
If anything, I wish Israel was responding with far more ruthlessness and power. Do you remember what the US did after 9/11? We destroyed two countries! Why should Israel be forbidden the same right – particularly when the enemy country is right on their border? I don’t understand it. They should just go in there and WIPE THEM ALL OUT. I hate to say it, but that’s what they should do.
Thank God there are men that still love Jews, otherwise I would never get laid at all. I am discovering that there are guys who are attracted to folks with Jewish-y features in the same way that some folks are into Asians or Latinos. The slack, white, hairy skin of a Jew turns them on. The gigantic fishing hook-like, dangling shnozz makes their cocks hard. The circumsized hoses make their bottoms twitch.
One such man with a Jew Fetish is my little stalker, the young fellow who calls me almost nightly to squeak into my ear about this and that. I have long since tried to distance myself from him, since he is a mere child and thus is rather boring, but he sticks to me like glue. He gloms on to me like one of those suckerfish that slurp along the side of a killer whale.
My little stalker’s in his last semester of college now, having majored in computer networking or something like that. And, even though he has a little brown body and wide Mexican-American eyebrows, he is a total Jew Freak. As a joke, I call him a “Matzoh Queen” and he grumbles good-naturedly. I quip that, since he gets turned on by flabby white middle aged Jewish men, he probably prints out copies of the Beverly Hills Courier to masturbate all over the photos of the Friars Club Charity Balls. We have never had sex, as he is well aware that the moment we fuck, I shall kick him to the kerb. I am like that.
If sheer force of will can make someone a friend, he will try. And his need to be my friend is frankly quite mystifying – though I suspect it is somehow connected with my being a pale, flabby middle aged fellow. He thinks we are dear, dear friends, but I have to confess that I do not believe that we are as close as all that. I frankly resent his youth, and he is squandering his passion and affection on the psychotic elderly. If he vanished tomorrow, I daresay I would not shed a single tear. Isn’t that wicked?
It’s a good thing the fellow cannot see my inner soul. Really, it’s a good thing no one can see my inner soul. The other night I had such pleasant sex with this hot, hot, hot man who, as it turned out, lives five or six buildings down the street. It was the second time we had met, after a hot session that took place something like three months earlier. Oh my goodness: He was so beautiful. He was a little shorter than I was, but with a handsome, swimmer-toned body, and gorgeous, intelligent, and sensitive eyes.
I had thought the first time was amazing, and when he called about coming over again for a second session, it was clear that he thought so, too. However, he noted, he had a couple of reservations.
“Well, you see, I remember that I really loved having sex with you – you have the HOTTEST cock, and I really loved sucking it and getting sucked off,” he noted. “But when we were making love, well, I sort of got the feeling that you are holding back. That you were being guarded.”
“You think so?” I replied, curious.
“Yeah. It was a little – I dunno – a little robotic. I mean, it’s natural, because we don’t know each other, so how else is it going to be? But this time – well, this time, I wonder if you could open up a bit. Just open up! Be yourself. You don’t have to be anyone else. I am into YOU!”
And so he came over and we had sex. It was smashing sex, too! I sucked his hard cock, and he moaned and wriggled happily. And we made out A LOT. And between that, his head bobbed up and down on my cock, while I probed his ass with my tongue.
“Uhhhh, ooooooh,” he gasped and moaned, pushing my head against his butt. “Uhhhh! Lick my aaaaass!”
And, of course, during the sex session I made an attept to pretend to open up. Let’s face it – I really had no idea of what he was talking about or even how to accomplish it. And so I did this great job of faking spontenaity and openness. I would suddenly stop what I was doing mid-sex, and then do something else. I would lift the man up this way, and gently nudge him that way, like I was being all “let’s do this right now.”
Of course, if I REALLY opened up for the poor fellow, he would have no doubt started to quail in terror at the sheer blackness of my bleak soul. It would have been like that scene in THE OMEN PART THREE in which the girl is making love with Damien and she is moaning, “I want you to open up! I want you to open up!” And Damien suddenly turns into the Devil and tears her to pieces. At the very least, I would have started roaring at him about the plight of the Jews. Or maybe not.
In any case, at one point, I lay on my back and he crawled on top of me, and then eased himself onto my cock. He rode me, moaning and grunting, until he squirted a huge load of cum all over my chest and stomach. The moment after he came, of course, he clammed up immediately.
“Uhhh,” he trembled. “Uhhhhh… I’m kind of…. Weirded out now. I, I, I, I don’t know why I did that. I never do that! What’s the matter with me? Umm, I gotta go. I gotta go!”
And so he grabbed his clothes and sprinted out the door, quick as a bunny. He didn’t even give me a chance toTHROW him out! And that, really, is why one DOESN’T open up, you see. And that’s the truth.
