Pesach and the Life of a Errant Jew

Or, otherwise known as, I barely fulfill one goddamn commandment, yet I still feel entitled to ethnic identity. Truly pretentious, I swear.

So that I feel like everyone else isn't ignored, I shall recount the Malakkar version of Exodus, which jews are commanded to tell on Pesach (I did both nights, to two randomly-selected jews)...
...I know, you've been awaiting this for weeks, maybe even months on end. So here it is:

We were once slaves in Egypt, until we were led out of the trap that was set with promise of material wealth by Moses, who because of his rage would never see the promised land. We eat matzah because although the one who is not to be named is mighty and great, evidently he thought it amusing that we be rushed out, not allowing our wonderful challah to rise. Instead we got hardtack, but call it matzah because of tradition.

There are four questions to be asked by the children, but naturally that’s a product of us winnowing down these options, otherwise the Seder would never end. I’m always siding with the contrarian son.

Enjoy the mirar – you can call it bitter herbs, but I love horse radish. Evidently, my stay in the desert wouldn’t have been so bad, though I do hate hot weather.

Regardless, we were led out of Egypt, and proved to be the chosen people, yet somehow entirely stupid when it comes to directions. This is because the great oracle of GoogleMaps was not there to guide us, and the one who is not to be named thought it amusing to make us wait 5,760 years for the aid. Not very funny in my book, but I wasn’t in the desert either.

The lessons learned: even if you can part the waters, doesn’t mean you gain entry to the promised land. And if you kick rocks in anger, you’re screwed, so just kick rocks in rejection. And matzah ain’t half bad with honey and peanut butter, so if you’re in a rush…

Also, it just so happens that this week, I'll be finishing up Chupecabra. In a complete denial of my heritage, I have finally decided to make the taped-on horns epoxy-on horns, and I just ordered red-colored spraypaint, with photoluminscent properties.

You all know where I'm going with this.

It's a dark night in the city. While you don't hear anything, you see something in the distance. Your heart starts to race. What could it be? As it approaches, in near silence, all you can make out is glowing red horns...

I know, it's terrible. It's also so fucking awesome I don't know if I'll ever bring myself to ram anyone ever again, afraid to break the horns.

That's it for tonight. P.S. I'm going to Golden Gate Law, can someone find me a place to live in the Mission District, someplace that won't mind federal probation snooping around for other convicts?