10

It’s summer and you think I’m gonna rap ’bout somethin’ lotional

Today’s a little different, y’all, forgive me if I’m ‘motional

Let’s take a little breather, slow it down and maybe park it

Put away your kale from your co-op hipster market

Let’s gather like it’s Pesach, all my sisters and my brothers

While I tell you why this night is so much DIFFERENT FROM THE OTHERS

So let’s all listen up, just relax or take a pill

And I’ll tell y’all the story cuz this shit ’bout to get RIL

Ten years ago today, in his junior year of college

Was a Jewey little pre-med who was fillin’ up with knowledge

(And frat parties and beer, but like, he was young and bonery

and KINDA maybe KINDA SORTA just a LITTLE stonery)

And while the other kids at Michigan sang “Hail to the VIC”

He was singin, “HAELLL, you guys, I feel kinda SICK”

He went and got some blood tests and was soon faced with the answer

And headed to the hospital with motherfucking cancer

When you go off to college, you might worry ’bout bulimia

And OBVIOUSLY herpes, but for real y’all, LEUKEMIA?

He did chemo, radiation, and the outcome still looked narrow

The kid needed a transplant of like, ALL of his bone marrow

He comes from this great family, they’re there for one another

And luckily he found a match in his little brother

(On a side note, join the donor list, PREACH THAT, Doctor Oz,

It’s tough to match minorities like blacks and ASHKENAZ)

In the midst of this he met a girl, which might sound real alarming

He may have been all bald and sick but WORKED it, and was charming

They chatted on IM (You remember that? I’m old…)

And she was super awesome, or like, that’s what I am told

They counted down his quarantine, the hurdles and the hoops

Their first kiss sent him to the hospital–can I get an OOPS?

So she asked him how long it would be till he’s out of the wood?

And he said 10 years post-transplant would be like, REALLY REALLY good

Ten years seemed like forever, so they just went on with life

They finished school, started careers, and then the girl became his wife

If you measure life in love LIKE RENT, then they had lots of wealth

And were thankful every day, for each other, and their health

And the boy became a cancer doc, yea, that deserves some clapping

The girl became an actress and she dabbles in Jew rapping

And though you can’t say ten whole years ever goes by fast

The day they waited for so long is finally here at last

I’m jappy rappy, never sappy, but these years have been a whirl

I’m so grateful for this guy, and I’m so lucky I’m his girl

If the cheesiness ain’t too much yet, well, now I’m ’bout to ruin it

Know where he’s at work today? The bone marrow transplant unit

He says fate can gently guide you, but sometimes it’s a firm push

And he’s one hell of a doctor, and has one hell of a tush

I try not to rap too personal, I usually berate it

But when life gives you a gift like this, you have to celebrate it

Life is full of ups and downs, it comes with hope and doubt

And there’s times when you should have your cake and blow your candles out

Happy 10 years, my sweet love, you took cancer and you beat it

Today’s the day you’ll have your cake and motherfuckin’ eat it

So let’s all celebrate today, even just a sliver

Cuz I have got a cake I’ve waited ten years to deliver

word.

Post Wedding 3_2_2

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Equality, Bitch.

So I’m riding on the subway with my fellow Jews & goys

And sitting right across I see these gorgeous little boys

They were riding on the 6 train with this chick who was their nanny

(No, not cuz they’re Hispanic and this chick is Pakistani)

I heard her tellin’ someone she’s a nanny and a bassist

I didn’t make assumptions, bitch, I AIN’T NO NANNY RACIST

They were playing nice and quietly with little cars and boats

And dressed up so adorably in MATCHING MONCLER COATS

They were munching on some healthy snacks, a little veggie crudo

They looked like tiny 4-year-old MEMBERS OF MENUDO

As I looked into their gorgeous eyes and perfect dimpled grins

I whispered, “Motherfucker.  THOSE ARE RICKY MARTIN’S TWINS.”

Bitch, I’m well-versed in celeb kids (I once saw Bronx Mowgli Wentz)

And Ricky Martin’s on the East Side SO THE 6 TRAIN WOULD MAKE SENSE!

Of course I kept real quiet (didn’t wanna seem a dork)

Bitch, that’s just how you roll when YOU ARE FUCKIN’ FROM NEW YORK

(Well, I’m actually from Cleveland, but I’m sayin’ that’s how I WOULD in fact roll, if I was actually from New York) (bitch)

And speaking of New York, there is no place I’d rather be

Than where these two boys and their dads can be a fuckin’ family

I looked right at these happy kids, how nicely they were seated

And I thought about some news of late and got real fuckin’ heated

I promised long ago I wouldn’t make this blog political

But this shit isn’t politics–BITCH, I ain’t hypocritical

Keeping anyone from marrying just really gets me fumin’

I told ya, it ain’ politics, it’s simply fuckin’ HUMAN

Folks comparing beastiality to people who are gay!?!?

If anyone’s unfit to parent it’s the ones who think that way

Politicians cheering Chick-fil-a, all in the name of God?

And what if Track or Trig were gay?? Or (more likely)Todd?

The best thing we can give this world, so far and above

Is to let us all live equally and openly with love

I left train and smiled at Matteo and his brother (Valentino. duh.)

Who on earth would keep their dads from fuckin’ marrying each other?

Bitch, I fucking love my husband, our bond is crazy thick

I’d SO marry him again, even if he were a chick

Love is simply love, gay or straight, New York or Boca

And for two people in love to wed? That vida sure ain’t loca

I walked home and I thought about how much I find it bothering

How anyone could question love and question loving fathering

NPH and David Burtka, Ellen, Portia, Cam & Mitch?

If anyone keeps them from marrying, I’ll fuckin’ choke a bitch

I got home and went online for just a little decompression

And I wrote this lil’ rap for you in true PASSIVE AGGRESSION

And I Google Image searched a pic of Ricky and his tots

And I found one from that very day!  I’M LIKE GONNA PLOTZ

He was walking through an airport, kids in hand and standing tall

And I zoomed in on the boys  AND THEY WEREN’T WHO I SAW AT ALL

They were acting like his kids, one on each leg so tightly latching

BUT IT JUST CAN’T BE SO! THEIR JACKETS AREN’T EVEN MATCHING

They had no designer clothes and no Evita paraphernalia

And they weren’t on the 6 train–THEY WERE FUCKING IN AUSTRALIA

So my boys weren’t Ricky Martin’s kids, as far as I can tell

But I’m sure they have gay dads–they just were dressed too fucking well

No matter who their parents are, why not let them wed?

I logged onto my Facebook, seems we all be seeing red

Other people’s love is good, please don’t be a hater

Don’t be a Scalia, be a Kagan or RUTH BADER

Let’s keep our fingers crossed that we will see the end of DOMA

And see some FAB new registries at Williams and Sonoma

And let’s all teach our kids to love, they hear what we’re impartin’

Do it for the greater good (and for Ricky Martin)

Word.japequality

Trust, Bitch.

Yo sometimes I leave town when I’m doin’ a show

And bitch, I miss my husband like, more than you know

Without me he’s so sad, he’s prob’ly home singin’ a ballad

And crying lonely tears into our FAVORITE TACO SALAD

And he’ll be sitting there confused and really feeling a loss

Cuz I’m the one who always orders extra SPICY YELLOW SAUCE

What if he’s so lonely he just takes up Dianetics?

I’m a worrier, bitch, THANK YOU JEWISH GENETICS

But I don’t worry ’bout him cheating, he’s too good to scratch that itch

And I hung posters ’round Manhattan warning I WILL CHOKE A BITCH

So all them ladies in New York know that they BETTA stay real far

Yeah, they know it like they know Dan Smith will TEACH THEM THE GUITAR

And though I’m doin’ MY thang, I just can’t seem to forget

All my worries that his needs aren’t bein’ mothafuckin’ MET

So the other day I’m worryin’ that he’s at home unstable

When my phone rings with an email from our friends at OPENTABLE

If you don’t use OpenTable, then yous GOTSTA be insane

Bitch, we NEED our reservations, we ain’t ANTHONY BOURDAIN

And the emails come to me, not because I am imperious

We’re just Jewish and we take our OpenTable points FOR SERIOUS

“Table for 2, Friday night,” a confirmation

With an email like that, one might resort to castration

(For me, it put an end to my past week of constipation)

And then my email rings AGAIN! Who’s it from? Bitch, are you curious?

Fandango.com! Two seats for FAST and FUCKIN’ FURIOUS

And fast and furious was I, all my trust flew out the door

My heart goes racing wildly, I’m gonna kill this whore

My hands shook as I dialed, cuz the news kinda impaled me

But it only rang through twice–OH NO HE DIN-UNT—HE VOICEMAILED ME!

So I sent that boy a text like, “MOTHERFUCKER–WHERE YOU ARE??”

Typing…Typing…he’s like, “DYLAN’S mothafuckin’ CANDY BAR!”

And my anger turned to sadness, this shit REALLY hurt my fillins

That’s our very special thing–PRE-MOVIE mothafuckin’ DYLAN’S

He knows the mix I like: gummies bottom, chocolate middle,

Topped with TONS of sour shit, and like, ONE Sour Skittle

He knows that once I dig in, I just giggle like I’m tickerish

When the perfect ‘mout of sour gets on that AUSTRALIAN LICORICE

And basically, he knows that when he makes that mix of candy

There’s 100% success rate that he’ll prolly get a handy

Just right then phone rang, it was him and I was seething

But I calmly said hello and I practiced LAMAZE BREATHING

(NO, Mom…no)

“Whatcha doin’ tonight?” He’s like, “A movie and a drinkler”

“OH YEAH??” “WITH WHOM? ” He’s says, “With FUCKIN’ Jason FUCKIN’ Finkler”*

 (*not exactly a direct quote I don’t think)

(AND BITCH, you BETTA know your WHO from WHOM–sorry for the pause,

BUT YOU GOTSTA KNOW use WHOM when it’s the OBJECT OF A CLAUSE)

“JASON FINKLER??” I said, and I felt like such a sucker

“JASON FINKLER!” he says, “IT’S A MAN DATE, MOTHER FUCKER”*

(*again, not like 100% sure that was the exact quote)

“Fandango and Dylans?” I say, “Those are OUR routines!”

He’s like, “I changed the mix cuz Jason really likes his JELLY BEANS”

“Did you get two separate bags?” He’s all, “No–we’re gonna share”

“We’ll just put it on the armrest of the MOTHAFUCKIN’ chair”

“And OpenTable for a man date? Dudes just go to burger joints!”

He’s like, “Baby, I am serious ABOUT MY FUCKIN’ POINTS”*

(*actually this may have been a direct quote)

So I told him, “Go have fun with Jason Finkler on your date”

“And call me when it’s over, and Aar–don’t stay out too late”

I then put down my phone, so ashamed I freaked and fussed

When I know I married my best friend, whoM I can always trust

And really, was I worried that someone would date and kiss him?

Nah–truth is when I’m gone, I simply really fuckin’ miss him

And while I’m here it’s nice to know he’s taken care of by good friends

And Finkler, if you cared, perhaps some nookie when it ends

Jason, I’m just kidding you, you know I like to joke ya

(Cuz Finkler if you did, you saw the signs, I’D FUCKIN’ CHOKE YA)

And Fast and Furious? I’d NEVER, even if you paid me MILLINS

(Or I’d see it for a handy and two pounds from fuckin’ Dylan’s)

word.

222814_904360891545_1280311_n(Names have been changed to protect the totally innocent Jordan fuckin’ Finkler)

Marriage, Bitch.

With Delaware there’s now eleven states in our great nation

To have legalized gay marriage, bitch, that’s cause for celeBRATION

And when it comes to marriage, I am TOTES the expert source

I’ve been married five whole years, so like, DUH OF COURSE

Now that so many more of us can enter wedded bliss

I’m ’bout to give y’all some insight BETTA LISTEN UP TO THIS

Now, I really love my husband, bitch, I’ve said it many times

We’re committed to each other (COUGH COUGH LeAnn COUGH COUGH Rimes)

But marriage is complex and really nobody explores

All the things be happenin’ behind closed married doors

So before y’all get hitched and go become co-haBITable

There are many things ’bout which you should make sure you’re compatTITible

Today I’m here to tell you ’bout just one point of contention

That has lately caused some stress on our here marital convention

See there’s one thing that my husband likes a VERY certain way

Whereas I prefer it sloppily and sometimes twice a day

I initiate and get it done most of the time, however,

He would rather do it rigidly and frankly, HARDLY EVER

Now, Im not intent to scare you or cause feelings of foreboding

But before you wed, you GOTSTA talk about DISHWASHER LOADING

This is a sad sad problem, kids, so go and grab your tissues

And thank y’all for listenin’ to my WHITE GIRL JEWISH ISSUES

This has long been a problem in our real humble abode

Though I get away with my way, almost every fuckin’ load

The only time is sucks is when my guy catches a glimpse

He thinks he’s the big daddy of DISHWASHER LOADING PIMPS

And he kinda is an expert on the loading of it since

He’s never EVER lived without one (he’s a pretty pretty prince)

We’re equals in our marriage, so bitch, I don’t let him rule me

But when he sees my sloppy loading he can’t help but try to school me

His arrangement of the forks is always much better than mine

“You have to separate them so they’re  CLEAN BETWEEN EACH TINE”

(That’s what the spikes on a fork are called. BITCH)

I put the glasses on the prongs and he’s all, “NO! They’re there to NESTLE”

“And tupperware goes on the top OR ELSE YOU’LL WARP THE VESSEL”

He tries to be real tender as he flips over the knives

“Honey, you don’t realize this is endangering our lives” (they’re butter knives)

“And only put as many glasses in as the tray can take,

Overcrowding and vibrations gonna cause that shit to BREAK”

“AND separate the plates, it’s REALLY BAD when they are stacking”

BITCH, you know what’s REALLY BAD? FUCKIN’hydroFRICKINGfracking

But I always get the job done when I do it my own way

He’s like the mean coach from The Mighty Ducks and BITCH, I’M COACH BOMBAY

And truth be told, the tips he has are really kinda great

But he hasn’t loaded up that shit since TWO THOUSAND AND EIGHT

And he’s so smart it blows my mind, he never stops to think

How those dishes all get clean when he just leaves them in the SINK

There are famous sloppy loaders, take Korean rapper Psy or

Perhaps Elena Kagan or SONIA SOTOMAYOR

Ok, I made that up, but you get what I mean

If a tree falls in a forest, THEN THAT SHIT’S STILL FUCKIN’ CLEAN

But when he redoes all my loading and tells me that’s horrible

I can’t help but to smile cuz his OCD’s adorable

And each time we end up laughing, every time a little louder

As he tells me why the tablets are much better than the powder

So even with this issue, this problem SO domestic

Being married to your best friend bitch, really is majestic

I’ll go put away the dishes now, no reason to protest

There’s only two glasses to put away (cuz bitch, I broke the rest)

word.

Equality, Bitch.

So I’m riding on the subway with my fellow Jews & goys

And sitting right across I see these gorgeous little boys

They were riding on the 6 train with this chick who was their nanny

(No, not cuz they’re Hispanic and this chick is Pakistani)

I heard her tellin’ someone she’s a nanny and a bassist

I didn’t make assumptions, bitch, I AIN’T NO NANNY RACIST

They were playing nice and quietly with little cars and boats

And dressed up so adorably in MATCHING MONCLER COATS

They were munching on some healthy snacks, a little veggie crudo

They looked like tiny 4-year-old MEMBERS OF MENUDO

As I looked into their gorgeous eyes and perfect dimpled grins

I whispered, “Motherfucker.  THOSE ARE RICKY MARTIN’S TWINS.”

Bitch, I’m well-versed in celeb kids (I once saw Bronx Mowgli Wentz)

And Ricky Martin’s on the East Side SO THE 6 TRAIN WOULD MAKE SENSE!

Of course I kept real quiet (didn’t wanna seem a dork)

Bitch, that’s just how you roll when YOU ARE FUCKIN’ FROM NEW YORK

(Well, I’m actually from Cleveland, but I’m sayin’ that’s how I WOULD in fact roll, if I was actually from New York) (bitch)

And speaking of New York, there is no place I’d rather be

Than where these two boys and their dads can be a fuckin’ family

I looked right at these happy kids, how nicely they were seated

And I thought about some news of late and got real fuckin’ heated

I promised long ago I wouldn’t make this blog political

But this shit isn’t politics–BITCH, I ain’t hypocritical

Keeping anyone from marrying just really gets me fumin’

I told ya, it ain’ politics, it’s simply fuckin’ HUMAN

Folks comparing beastiality to people who are gay!?!?

If anyone’s unfit to parent it’s the ones who think that way

Politicians cheering Chick-fil-a, all in the name of God?

And what if Track or Trig were gay?? Or (more likely)Todd?

The best thing we can give this world, so far and above

Is to let us all live equally and openly with love

I left train and smiled at Matteo and his brother (Valentino. duh.)

Who on earth would keep their dads from fuckin’ marrying each other?

Bitch, I fucking love my husband, our bond is crazy thick

I’d SO marry him again, even if he were a chick

Love is simply love, gay or straight, New York or Boca

And for two people in love to wed? That vida sure ain’t loca

I walked home and I thought about how much I find it bothering

How anyone could question love and question loving fathering

NPH and David Burtka, Ellen, Portia, Cam & Mitch?

If anyone keeps them from marrying, I’ll fuckin’ choke a bitch

I got home and went online for just a little decompression

And I wrote this lil’ rap for you in true PASSIVE AGGRESSION

And I Google Image searched a pic of Ricky and his tots

And I found one from that very day!  I’M LIKE GONNA PLOTZ

He was walking through an airport, kids in hand and standing tall

And I zoomed in on the boys  AND THEY WEREN’T WHO I SAW AT ALL

They were acting like his kids, one on each leg so tightly latching

BUT IT JUST CAN’T BE SO! THEIR JACKETS AREN’T EVEN MATCHING

They had no designer clothes and no Evita paraphernalia

And they weren’t on the 6 train–THEY WERE FUCKING IN AUSTRALIA

So my boys weren’t Ricky Martin’s kids, as far as I can tell

But I’m sure they have gay dads–they just were dressed too fucking well

No matter who their parents are, why not let them wed?

I logged onto my Facebook, seems we all be seeing red

Other people’s love is good, please don’t be a hater

Don’t be a Scalia, be a Kagan or RUTH BADER

Let’s keep our fingers crossed that we will see the end of DOMA

And see some FAB new registries at Williams and Sonoma

And let’s all teach our kids to love, they hear what we’re impartin’

Do it for the greater good (and for Ricky Martin)

Word.japequality

Menstrual Man, Bitch.

If you’re livin’ with a lady, then you know there’s nothing worse

Than that one week of the month when she gets the fuckin’ CURSE

No matter what you say, there will always be a fight

For that week (and more) you’re wrong, I mean, ladies, am I right?

So don’t bother with affection, you’re just wasting all your doting

Cuz we’d rather be alone with our Chipotle, gas, and bloating

And though I do want that burrito, I’m not trying to brag

But I really don’t get moody when I’m on the fuckin’ RAG

Now, please don’t be mistaken, thinkin’ that’s so advantageous

Because lately I’m convinced that menstrual symptoms are contagious

I have lots of detailed evidence, I’m sharing just a kernel

I’MMMA publish all this shit in the New England fuckin’ JOURNAL

It’s a medical wonder, but to you I will confess:

That when I get my ladies, my man gets the PMS

I think the estrogen just floats around and does a little switchy

I get the zits and bloating and my husband GETS THE BITCHY

Don’t get me wrong, he is a dude, all manly and testicular

But on that one week he’s stubborn and he’s so crazily particular

He’s perfect all the other weeks, with hardly any flaws

So I’ll put up with all this shit UNTIL WE MENOPAUSE

I could tell so many stories cuz the instances are ample

But here is just the latest–I’M ‘BOUT TO GIVE YOU AN EXAMPLE:

Last weekend we went out of town to see our good friends marry

Our flight was Friday evening when the traffic can be hairy

We planned to cab it straight from work which was already quite darin’

But we couldn’t miss this wedding MAZEL TOV TO BEN AND ARYN

So Friday morning when he left for work, my guy knew he’d been meaning

To drop of his enormous load of dirty damn dry cleaning

‘Twas seven in the morning and of course he had supposed

That the cleaners would be open, but bitch, they were fuckin’ closed

Hong’s Cleaners is his favorite, whether April, June, or March

He goes there all year long because he LOVES THE WAY THEY STARCH

He passed by 5 other stores because their starch is “reprehensible”

So he brought that shit to work, he’s a doctor AND SO SENSIBLE

So the patients that were crying that their cancer really hurts

Were prob’ly thrilled to see their doctor AND HIS FUCKIN’ DIRTY SHIRTS

I should mention we’ve no laundry bag, so don’t misunderstand, NO

He had his shirts all free and loose: DRY CLEANING COMMANDO

But of course he came up with a plan, never once forgetting

That he wasn’t going home that night, but flying to a wedding

He’d hop right in a cab, we had a flight and we would catch it

He’d meet me with his dry cleaning and like a WIFE I’d fetch it

I drop it with my doorman who’s all, “Someone come and getting it??”

I yell back, “YEP,” jump in the cab, already regretting it

I say, “Let’s call the cleaners, not leave shirts there in obscurity”

And he’s like, “NO! WE HAVE TO WAIT ‘TIL WE GET THROUGH SECURITY”

I sigh, “OK” and didn’t say, “THAT MAKES NO FUCKING SENSE”

Cuz all these years have taught me YOU CAN’T REASON WITH THE MENSE

Now the best thing you can do is get a menstrual one some grub

Like the baller that I am I got us in the DELTA CLUB

At this point PMS was really getting kinda scary

So I go straight to the bar and get my man a bloody mary

When your man has PMS and he starts to get real colicky

Get him something spicy, pickled, and REAL alcoholicky

I snuck away to call the cleaners and I left my guy alone

(With 3 packets of Nutella and some HUMMUS IN A CONE)

So I go look up the number thinking Google’d be of help

But I couldn’t find Hong’s Cleaners there, NOT EVEN ON YELP

Nervously I searched and searched and then to my surpriser

HONG TEAM CLEANERS! THANK YOU SO MUCH, TRIP ADVISOR!

The guy answers the phone and I can’t understand a word

English isn’t his first language IT’S HIS MOTHA FUCKIN’ THIRD

I say my last name and address maybe six or seven times

I’d repeat what he yelled back but THERE AIN’T NO WAY THAT IT RHYMES

We go back and forth for minutes and now both of us are yelling

Who’d be picking up our clothes? There really was no way of telling

The chances it’d be Hong you’d think are looking rather slim, huh?

But otherwise he would have brought his LAUNDRY TO A SIMCHA

I look back at my guy who was three bloody marys deep

We stepped aboard the plane and went to MOTHAFUCKIN’ SLEEP

We had a lovely weekend, danced and drank the wine of Bacchus

We celebrated Ben and Aryn, OMG you guys, SUCH NACHES

We got back home that Sunday, took the bus from LGA

And we walked home from the bus stop and passed Hong along the way

They are always closed on Sundays, but my eye did catch their awning

And my jaw dropped to the ground (but I pretended I was yawning)

Their phone number was on it, though the digits were quite small

I knew that wasn’t who I called–UM LIKE NOT EVEN AT ALL

The shirts weren’t at my building, so who had them was a mystery

But I would crack this case, THANK YOU IPHONE CALLER HISTORY

I snuck on my computer and I got the fuckin’ hookup

Hong “TEAM” Cleaners, THANK YOU REVERSE FUCKIN’ LOOKUP

Now as far as my guy knew, there were no problems all along

And I’ll never ever tell him that I got the WRONG HONG

Within two fucking blocks how many Hongs could there be?

Well bitch, I learned the hard way that the answer here is THREE

I tracked the cleaning down and the next day went and got it

I took the plastic off and swiftly placed it in the closet

And he never had to know about this tiny little hiccup

And I went back to his Hong and signed his ass up for FREE PICK-UP

He got dressed today and said, “This starch is weird”, OH?? IS IT?!

I just told him to back off because AUNT FLO IS HERE TO VISIT.

word.

Harvest, Bitch.

There’s a chill in the air and it’s feelin’ pretty nice

And when you go into a Starbucks yous be gettin’ pumpkin spice

So break out that padded vest, put away them seersuckers

It’s my favorite time of year, IT’S THE HARVEST MOTHAFUCKAS

Time to go jump in the leaves and time to follow me on twitter

Time to pick some apples and then eat a frickin’ fritter

And boys, it’s time you find a bitch to take under your covers

Cuz I’m telling you, you heard it here, THE HARVEST IS FOR LOVERS

And to get yourself a lady you need tips, well boys, I got ’em

If you follow my instructions you will get some tail this autumn

The secret to make sure that you will get some harvest lovin’

It be right under your nose, right in your MOTHAFUCKIN’ OVEN

You don’t need no sexy music, you don’t need no water bed

All you need to know is how to make a PUMPKIN BREAD

Now if baking freaks you out and you normally eschew it

Don’t worry, mothafucka, I’MMA TEACH YOU HOW TO DO IT

First you take a cup a sugar, cream it with a stick of butter

Give your bitch a little wink and then her heart will go aflutter

Add a teaspoon of vanilla and two eggs and stir it well

(Maybe crack the eggs beforehand YOU DON’T WANT NO BITS OF SHELL)

In a different bowl add flour, like a whole cup and a half

(And verify your bitch is clean of STDs or STAPH)

Add a half teaspoon of salt and one teaspoon baking soda

And to get her in the mood just turn on Kathy Lee and Hoda

Mix all that shit together and then soon she’ll know what’s up

When to that you add some pumpkin ONE ENTIRE FUCKIN’ CUP

Now for my big secret that’ll really make her scream

To that you add a half a cup of fuckin’ SOUR CREAM

SOUR CREAM? You may ask? BITCH YOU CRAZY, MAKE NO SENSE!

But you betta believe–it makes that loaf so MOIST AND DENSE

Sour cream and pumpkin is a combo that’s climactic

It’s creamy and it’s tangy from the acid that’s all LACTIC

Now she’ll really want you but you gots to tell her “IN A MIN”

Cuz you gots to add a teaspoon of some fuckin’ cinnamon

And you make you lady wait, even though by now she’s beggin’

You need a half a teaspoon–you be gettin NUTEGGIN

And one last thing to make sure you be gettin in her hips

Stir in some fuckin’ semi-sweet CHOCOLATE FUCKIN CHIPS

Pour it in a loaf pan that you’ve parchmented or greased

Bake at 350 for an hour, brotha, YOURE A FUCKIN’ BEAST

Then go and get your freak on and a pumpkiny aroma

Will wake you up like Folgers from your fall post-coital coma

And I promise you there’s no way that that chick was even faking

Though I cannot guarantee she didn’t use you for your your baking

And if you think baking’s girly work, best for a maid or elf

I’ve got a BINDER FULL OF WOMEN telling you to fuck yourself

So go and get your bake on, don’t you think of hesitating

(This works especially well if she is fat or menstruating)

And when all is said and done you can go cuddle up beside her

And instead of cigarettes cool off with pumpkin bread and cider

word.

(recipe adapted from http://www.food.com/recipe/sour-cream-pumpkin-bread-157475)

Bagels, Bitch.

YO every Sunday morning all we Jews go on a mission

Like Tevye told Lazar Wolf, “THIS SHIT IS OUR TRADITION”

You jump right out of bed (where you are practicing your kagels)

And you get your ass in line to get some MOTHA FUCKIN’ BAGELS

I don’t want no fancy shit, NO THANKS, BAREFOOT CONTESSA

I used to go to H&H but now I go to ESS-A

And fellas, if you want a bitch, before you go and pork her

Take her out for bagels, see if she’s a true New Yorker

You don’t need no background check, no need to check her references

All you need to know is in her FUCKIN’ BAGEL PREFERENCES

Yo don’t want a bitch who goes and orders a dozen

They’ll be bad in 3 hours, eat them HOT NOW, COUSIN

She’ll tell you she’ll just freeze ’em when she gives her big-ass order

Back the fuck away, you’ve found a FUCKIN’ BAGEL HOARDER

If she likes a lot of seeds, I’m talkin’ sesame or poppy

And gets ’em all up in her teeth, then you can bet that bitch is sloppy

You know she’ll be a downer with some deep, depressing ballad

If she orders MOTHAFUCKIN’ WHITEFISH MOTHAFUCKIN’ SALAD

Girls are fun and quirky if they order pumpernickel

She’ll be easy if she gets herself a BIG FULL SOUR PICKLE

Beware of cinnamon raisin, if you know what I mean

They may be real hot but they’re like, SO under eighteen

She’s real Jewey if she asks them, “Can you scoop it out please??”

Yeah, bitch, you’ll get real skinny once you fill that shit with CHEESE

If you wanna bag a shiksa, then you know that you’ll be safe

If she gets bacon on that bagel–LEMME HEAR YA SAY TRAIF

And a bitch who gets a flagel will be sure to take good care of ya

She maximizes overall POTENTIAL SCHMEARING AREA

A bitch who really knows the perfect schmear-to-bagel ratio

In my informal study, tends to give the best fellatio

She knows to spread it evenly, across the whole diameter

She even knows to rap it out in I-AM-BIC PENTAMETER (or really more heptameter…if she’s really awesome)

I can always tell a guy who had a bagel bitch come ova

To me, the smell of love is wholewheat everything and NOVA

And for some extra credit, after you go make your nookie

Forget the cigarette and have a BLACK AND WHITE COOKIE

So why are you still home? Go get some bitches up in here

Get your ass some bagels with some MOTHAFUCKIN SCHMEAR

word.

My Sweetie, Bitch.

Yo just last week was our anniversary

And marriage, let me say, is everything I’d hoped it’d be

We’re partners and lovers, a team and best friends

We watch The Bachelorette and fall asleep before it ENDS

These past four years have truly been nothing short of heaven

He does wake up before me cuz he has to work at seven

And every day I wake up knowing just what I’ll encounter

When I walk into the kitchen and I look upon the counter

Although he leaves so quietly and doesn’t make a racket

HE NEVER FUCKIN’ THROWS AWAY HIS MOTHER FUCKIN’ SPLENDA PACKET

Ya see, we love our coffee maker, like I can’t even express-o

A morning ain’t a morning til this bitch has her Nespresso

He always makes his cappuccino from the comfort of our home

He knows just how to sweeten it and not disturb his FOAM

Two thirds of a Splenda, and he stirs in gingerly

I’M DOWN WITH OCD, YEAH YOU KNOW ME

He drinks his morning java and he cleans up the machine

He puts on that little stethoscope and flees the fuckin’ scene

So then I wake up about an hour or so later

And see some yellow on the counter next to the ‘frigerator

Believe it or not, he’s a doctor, not a trucker

BUT HE NEVER THROWS AWAY THAT SPLENDA PACKET MOTHA FUCKER

The trash can’s right below, it don’t require you to think

(We Jews all keep our garbage cans underneath the sink)

Now my husband is real brilliant, this fact I must admit

He not only is a doctor, but does RESEARCH AND SHIT

If you have a question, you can bet he’ll have an answer

I bet him a B.J. that he’ll probably cure cancer

There is nary a disease that he cannot diagnose

BUT HE CANNOT THROW AWAY THAT MOTHA FUCKIN’ SUCRALOSE

This problem used to take place only in our house

Cuz who would clean your Splenda up other than your spouse?

But the other day we stopped to get an iced coffee or two

At this little shop by us that does a mean COLD BREW

I knew he wouldn’t do it there, so I just took sip

But I turned around and saw that he had left out JUST THE TIP

Just the TIP of the Splenda, yeah–word to your mom

Just the TIP? It’s a coffee shop–not the fuckin’ PROM

It’s like my smart sexy man has this crazy presumption

That the world needs to keep tabs on his Splenda consumption

He can’t believe he does this cuz he’s usually so neat

And he always says he’s sorry cuz he’s NAT-U-RALLY SWEET

And he goes to hold my hand, and I feel his wedding ring

In these past four years of marriage, bitch, I wouldn’t change a thing

He says he’ll try to change next time, but really I don’t care

Cuz that little yellow packet lets me know that he was there

We just went out for coffee at this little cafe

He said, “Don’t you even worry, I know what you’re gonna say”

“It’s our fifth year of marriage now, so Baby, let’s begin it”

And he walked right by the garbage and he threw his Splenda in it on itImageword.

Extramarital Ice Cream, Bitch.

Yo I love bein’ married, bitch, I love it quite a bit

He’s my best friend, my soulmate, and like, all of that shit

He’s honest and he’s loyal, our love is unsurpassed

He isn’t into threesomes (but NOT LIKE I’VE EVER ASKED)

We always stay faithful even when temptation lurks

But what’s wrong with harmless flirting if it gets this bitch some PERKS?

Sometimes I get free coffee from Amir at the bodega

If she’d let us win the lottery, I’d schtupp Yolanda Vega

But my favorite crush of all, I’d say far and above

Was my ice cream boyfriend, my COLD STONE LOVE

When my husband was in med school, bitch, we had to live apart

So I lived with my best gay, but I had a broken heart

So to make myself feel better while my husband was away

I’d be mackin’ on some ice cream at least ONCE OR TWICE A DAY

Lucky for me, when I needed a treat

A Cold Stone opened up–where?–RIGHT ACROSS THE STREET

And the kid behind the counter acted like he’d wanna bone me

And I rolled my eyes and said, “um..can’t you just cold stone me?”

And then he rang me up and I thought there was a miscount

But he winked at me and whispered, “Girl, you get my family discount”

And thus began our love affair, and it was like a dream

Bitch, the way to my heart is through FREE ICE CREAM

So I’d go back every day and simply make some flirty faces

And he’d smile through his acne and his SEXY CLEAR BRACES

And he’d say something weird like “Your left eye really twinkles”

And I’d say “Thanks” and ask for EXTRA RAINBOW SPRINKLES

And he’d go to ring me up and he’d be feelin like a balla

When he’d tell that I owed WHAT WHAT THREE DOLLA

(actual retail value was like, $177)

He knew me so well and knew I didn’t wanna spenda

Lotta money on my yogurt–well–that sweet cream made with SPLENDA

He knew just what I wanted, he just had a way of guessing

He’d even add some Oreos when I was PMSing

If they were running low on gummy bears, he’d always keep some hidden

So he could add them to mine, “OH MICHAEL, NO YOU DIDDUNN”

When my husband came to visit, I’d make him wait outside

I couldn’t let Michael see him, I didn’t wanna crush his pride

Plus if he came in, he would have blown my cover

And I just couldn’t do that to my COLD STONE LOVER

I never said goodbye when we moved uptown

I couldn’t bear to imagine those clear braces in a frown

There are lots of ice cream places in our new neighborhood

And all of them suffice, but sadly, none are quite as good

Jamal at TLC always treats me alright

And they double punch my card down at Tasti-D-Lite

And they all give me lots of sprinkles, cuz of course they all know me

But each time they do, I pour some out for my homie

word.