a kitten that couldn’t find its mother. “We have a winner!” yelled Harold.
The crying continued and we could all see the dim glow of candlelight as the guards were awakened to the sound of this pathetic man. The four of us were all whispering, along with the inmates, for him to shut his mouth before the overlord came. It was too late. The cell doors opened and in he came with his guard. “What in the blue fuck is going on in here?” he shouted.
The fat man continued to cry for his mother. “You have exactly three seconds to shut the fuck up before I permanently close your mouth for you,” he yelled. The crying and whimpering did not cease, and the poor fellow was beaten unmercifully for his troubles. The overlord wiped the fat man’s blood off of his sandals and went back to bed, after warning the rest of the slaves that they would get the same if he so much as heard a camel fart.
Joseph cost me five sacks of grain that night. He never made a sound. We learned a couple of days later that the fat man had died from his beating.
Things continued in a bad way for the slaves for a long time, which I guess is the life of a slave. But for Joseph, things turned out for the better in a most unexpected way. Apparently, he began having dreams of a prophecy regarding Egypt and its pharaoh’s future. He found favor with that insufferable son of a bitch and the members of his high court. He was given limited freedom, a nice place to live, and a comfortable living. He was also my friend. I guess that you could say that I liked him from the first time I saw him.
He was a regular at my home for dinner. Bubbe was quite taken with him and felt like it was her duty to look after this little fellow. He was well respected throughout Egypt, and for a Jew, that’s no small task. Just ask the current administration.
Joseph was showered with wealth, popularity, and his choice of any woman he wanted. Not bad for a man who had come into the land as a slave. He rejected almost all of this. I assumed that it was because he wanted to stay chaste. I could not have been more wrong.
Looking back on those days, I should have seen the warning signs. For instance, he cried about losing that ridiculous multi-colored coat his father had given him. Then he was appointed the interior decorator for Pharaoh’s palace and wanted to install track lighting everywhere. But the straw that broke the camel’s back was the night that he came to my home in tears.
I was awakened to the sound of frantic knocking at my door and at first thought that it was a JW, but they only knock at nine in the morning. I put on my robe and there was Joseph, trembling and in tears. I led him into the living room and sat him down on the sofa.
“What’s wrong, Joe?” I asked, concerned for my friend.
“It was terrible!” he cried. “She was terrible! Why would she do such a thing?” He became hysterical.
“Who?” I asked. Was he talking about Bubbe?
He slowly composed himself and, in between whimpers, asked, “Do you know Potiphar?”
“The politician?” I asked, slightly confused. “What about him?”
“His wife—we were alone in the house and she tried to have sex with me!” he wailed. “She touched my shmekel !” He broke into tears again.
I was not quite sure what the problem was. Potiphar’s wife was one of the greatest hotties I’d ever known. “Well done, my friend,” I said. “Did you shtup her?” I asked.
Joseph looked at me with a face of horror and shrieked, “Eeeooo!”
Holy shit. Now things were becoming clear, or in his case, queer.
This flew entirely under the radar for me. Normally I can spot a faygelah a mile off, but here was Joseph right under my nose practically making a confession. Well, if nothing else, it explained why his brothers sold him into slavery. It would have killed his father. He leaned against my shoulder, continuing to cry, when my worst fears were realized. Bubbe woke up.
She was still a little
The crying continued and we could all see the dim glow of candlelight as the guards were awakened to the sound of this pathetic man. The four of us were all whispering, along with the inmates, for him to shut his mouth before the overlord came. It was too late. The cell doors opened and in he came with his guard. “What in the blue fuck is going on in here?” he shouted.
The fat man continued to cry for his mother. “You have exactly three seconds to shut the fuck up before I permanently close your mouth for you,” he yelled. The crying and whimpering did not cease, and the poor fellow was beaten unmercifully for his troubles. The overlord wiped the fat man’s blood off of his sandals and went back to bed, after warning the rest of the slaves that they would get the same if he so much as heard a camel fart.
Joseph cost me five sacks of grain that night. He never made a sound. We learned a couple of days later that the fat man had died from his beating.
Things continued in a bad way for the slaves for a long time, which I guess is the life of a slave. But for Joseph, things turned out for the better in a most unexpected way. Apparently, he began having dreams of a prophecy regarding Egypt and its pharaoh’s future. He found favor with that insufferable son of a bitch and the members of his high court. He was given limited freedom, a nice place to live, and a comfortable living. He was also my friend. I guess that you could say that I liked him from the first time I saw him.
He was a regular at my home for dinner. Bubbe was quite taken with him and felt like it was her duty to look after this little fellow. He was well respected throughout Egypt, and for a Jew, that’s no small task. Just ask the current administration.
Joseph was showered with wealth, popularity, and his choice of any woman he wanted. Not bad for a man who had come into the land as a slave. He rejected almost all of this. I assumed that it was because he wanted to stay chaste. I could not have been more wrong.
Looking back on those days, I should have seen the warning signs. For instance, he cried about losing that ridiculous multi-colored coat his father had given him. Then he was appointed the interior decorator for Pharaoh’s palace and wanted to install track lighting everywhere. But the straw that broke the camel’s back was the night that he came to my home in tears.
I was awakened to the sound of frantic knocking at my door and at first thought that it was a JW, but they only knock at nine in the morning. I put on my robe and there was Joseph, trembling and in tears. I led him into the living room and sat him down on the sofa.
“What’s wrong, Joe?” I asked, concerned for my friend.
“It was terrible!” he cried. “She was terrible! Why would she do such a thing?” He became hysterical.
“Who?” I asked. Was he talking about Bubbe?
He slowly composed himself and, in between whimpers, asked, “Do you know Potiphar?”
“The politician?” I asked, slightly confused. “What about him?”
“His wife—we were alone in the house and she tried to have sex with me!” he wailed. “She touched my shmekel !” He broke into tears again.
I was not quite sure what the problem was. Potiphar’s wife was one of the greatest hotties I’d ever known. “Well done, my friend,” I said. “Did you shtup her?” I asked.
Joseph looked at me with a face of horror and shrieked, “Eeeooo!”
Holy shit. Now things were becoming clear, or in his case, queer.
This flew entirely under the radar for me. Normally I can spot a faygelah a mile off, but here was Joseph right under my nose practically making a confession. Well, if nothing else, it explained why his brothers sold him into slavery. It would have killed his father. He leaned against my shoulder, continuing to cry, when my worst fears were realized. Bubbe woke up.
She was still a little
Similar Books
