The Accidental White Supremacist

Hey, umm, hi. Hi. I guess you're wondering about, well, about these tattoos. Well, I guess to start, I'm Stewart, Stewart T Goldblum. Hi. I am 43 years old, and I'm from Nipsantucks, Indiana. I am, well, I was, yeah, I was an electronic bank engineer at the Nipsantucks National Bank of Nipsantucks, Indiana. By that, I mean I was the guy that, I guess what you'd call it was, I, well, I, I put the money into the ATMs around town so that, so that people could get money out of their account. Gosh, I'm sorry, I'm just, I'm just so nervous. I can't really, or shouldn't really be talk, talking to you right now.

Anyway, while I was working as an electronic bank engineer, I was approached by a gentleman that looked a lot like, umm, he, well, he was like Professor X from The X-Men. And he asked me, no that's not right, he, umm, he told me that he had been watch-, watching me for a long time. He asked me a bunch of different questions about my personal belief systems, which I thought was a little weird, to say the least. At the end, he, well, gosh, he told me that I was going to be needed to do some "things" for him. I swore to myself, a long time ago, that all that stuff was behind me. I mean, those kind of things were what got me kicked out of the Nipsantucks Community College for Technology and Trades. Luckily, he just wanted me to steal money from my job, so that was a blessing.

The only thing was, he said, I was going to have to be initiated to his group. He said he was, he was part of the new KKK, and that since I was going to do this, I had to be part of it. I was ok with it, sort of, but I knew I would have to be persuasive cause, well, cause I'm, I'm very, ummm, Jewish.

So, I, well, I went and got initiated, nervously. And then I started working for the man who recruited me. I started small, taking five dollars here and there from my cash bag, but soon, I was, oh God, I was taking over 500 dollars. That was after only a couple of days. The power was exhilarating. After I got a good amount of cash for my man, I was told that I needed to get tattooed. I wasn't particularly happy about the idea, but I needed to go through with the farce. So, I got these tattoos on my, on my face and neck cause I figured that would help my cred. And I got vegan cause, well, cause I'm, I'm a vegan. My new friends thought I was weird but they totally accepted me for who I am. They even gave me a party! Well, a boot party, but still it was a party just for me.

Anyway, so I kept on making money for my new friends and getting random tattoos to show I was really a part of the gang. By the end of my first month, I was bringing in almost 4500 dollars a week. Then I got fired. My employers found out what I was doing and they said I was going to be lucky that they weren't going to file charges. Once I got fired, my new friends, they, well, they, had no more use for me. I had no viable skills for their drug operations or their prostitution rings or the political corruption campaigns. They said I needed to go. So I left but they, they followed me around. I thought once I left that was the end of it but they meant they needed to kill me.

So, here I am. Shaking, scared, and vegan. All Jewish, no filler. And I'm scared, man. I need to get out of the country, or something. I just, I just want to be my good, Jewish self again. My whole life has been such a mistake!

The Rabbi Gone Wild

Shalom, I am Rabbi Haim Sheckleostein, well I used to be a rabbi. I was asked to step out of my role as a rabbi at the Hezbollah Orthodox Jewish Temple when it was discovered that I was embezzling temple funds to pay for my moonshine business. See I'm only half-Jewish, on my mother's side and my daddy was a good ol' country boy from up in the Shenandoah Valley, and them roots run deep. When I was growing up, poor and barefoot in the hills, my mother and father were always having the same old fight. Mother wanted me to attend temple and get involved with the Jewish boys my age while daddy was always trying to pull me into the shiner nation, make me watch Nascar, and learn to snare rabbits for good cookin'.

Early life was a blur of mother and dad fighting, always pulling me in two different directions. And I mean that both figuratively and literally. One time, we were on the sidewalk outside the Mott's 5/10 and they got into a fight about my trying out for youth league baseball. Mother wanted to keep me safe and she thought that anyone who would willingly throw balls at me was mean and needed to be kept as far away from me as possible. Dad, on the other hand, was trying to explain to mother that baseball was a fine sport and was something that every boy, even himself, grew up doing. Mother then pointed out that baseball must be why my dad was such a blockheaded ninnywillows and began to pull me by the wrist toward temple. Dad said there was no way I was no gonna be allowed to play baseball, telling mother that she was a sniveling, uppity, no bacon eating, un-American slagathor, and he grabbed my other arm, trying to jerk me away and take me to the YMCA to sign up for baseball. As he and my mother opposed each other and pulled on me, dad started to get the upper hand, as it were, and my mother lost her grip. Dad ended up flinging me off the sidewalk and down into the street where I got hit by an oncoming bicyclist.

The bicycle slammed into my ribs and flipped over the top of me, and the handlebars came crashing down on my neck. I was pretty much fine, but the girl that was riding the bike got thrown completely off and went flying headlong toward an oncoming truck. Luckily for her, the truck driver saw the accident, and the girl, and swerved to miss her to spare her life. Sadly, when he did that, the truck driver didn't see that there was a fruit cart vendor on the sidewalk that he was headed straight toward. When the truck hit the curb of the street and popped up on to the sidewalk, it slammed right into the fruit cart, sending the vendor and the cart flying. The vendor went slamming backward through the plate glass storefront of the Jenkins Hardware supply store, which was harmless enough, but he landed on a rack of aluminum rakes and punctured his lungs.

Unfortunately, though, the fruit cart and all its' wares were hurled up and forward from the impact, and oranges, lemons, and apples went sailing all over the place. The cart itself was thrown over the tops of the buildings that lined the street and flew, in all its glory, right into the base of the ancient, much beloved, fragile ash tree that the town was founded around. The cart crashed speedily into the bottom third of the ash and splintered the trunk. Of course that caused the ash to fall over, and because it was such a majestic and ancient tree, it was well over one hundred feet tall and very heavy. All that weight crashed to the earth and unfortunately landed on the mayor's 1968 Corvette, right on the trunk.

The Corvette flipped up into the air on impact like it was being thrown from a catapult, or more accurately a trebuchet, and it sailed in a beautiful arc over the Ashtown Savings and Bank, coming to a stop as it careened into the massive stone and iron steeple of the First Episcopal Church of Ashtown. The spire fractured most perfectly and was flung down from its' perch where it slammed into a fire hydrant below. The hydrant, free of its' concrete home, shot off like a rocket from the pressure of the water in the lines under the city streets, and lazered its' way toward the sky. The flight was short lived, and the fire hydrant came crashing down right on top of my mother. She was killed almost instantly, though her legs flew out from under her with the impact and she gave my father one last, good kick in the groin. My father was immediately stricken with pain and grief, but once he regained his composure from the kick he took me to sign up for baseball. While I was doing my tryout to see what team I would be placed on, my dad went to the house to grab a bite to eat. Six hours later, I left the YMCA and struck out for home on foot. I had guessed my dad was home drunk and had forgotten about me. When I got home, though, I found a very different scene. My dad had decided, I guess, that since my mother was no longer with us that he would become a playboy. There were clothes and women everywhere when I got home. I was in shock, not because my dad had decided to sleep with a bunch of women but because there were definitely more women at our house than there were teeth. Dad yelled at me to get out and so I ran away, never to see him again.

I got picked up by the police an hour later, and when they asked me where I lived I told them that I was an orphan and that I had been living at the Heckle & Shmeckle Jewish Home for Displaced and Abandoned Boys. I lived at the home until I was eighteen and was trained in the ways of Rabbi-ery. I felt like this was a good way to honor my tragically killed mother, so it seemed like I would have a good life. Unfortunately for me, you can't always escape your genetic pool - sometimes you just float around and end up drowning in it.

When I was twenty six, I was moved from the temple which I was rabbi over to another temple that was much less fortunate money-wise than where I came from. I started taking small amounts of petty cash - a dollar here, a dollar there just so I could make ends meet. Soon though, I was taking handfuls of cash from the donations boxes and collection plates. I didn't really need much more than a few dollars a week but I was taking nearly a thousand. I didn't know what to do with the extra money so I started trying to honor my father, whom I presumed to be dead by this point, by making some moonshine on the side. It went well at first, I was making just enough for me to have a drink every day and little else. But soon I got the idea to start mass production and sales. I hired a small Jewish boy, Kenneth, and he helped me out by tending the stills when I was teaching classes or was just too drunk to move.

It was Kenneth that got me busted. That little rat fink discovered my stash of excess cash, and because he was good at math figured out that I wasn't selling near enough moonshine to have that kind of money laying around. He turned me in for fraud and lying. And now I get to do the next ten years in a small cell, probably with some sketchy guy named Bo or something equally trashy.....thanks, Kenneth.