LARRY KING & GENE SIMMONS VS ANTI-JEW: WE GAVE HIM THE LORD !

[Negentropic]

2vma2q4y]


Larry King: Good !  What is your name so we can know you as a known Anti-Jew?   C'mon GUTSY    :lol:  what's your name?

Caller: You better believe it, 'cause I know what they're up to!

Larry King, as he's cutting the caller off in case he gets any more words in :  Have a good time gutsy!!


Gene Simmons: You know Larry, the most eloquent thing the gentleman who just called said was "Jews are to blame," however the most IMPORTANT thing WE ALL (who's we sucka?  :lol: He's addressing the entire audience now, goys and Jews alike, but especially those easy-to-fool Christian Zionist goys) have to figure is that when he does go to church he is praying to a Jew, there's an ironic twist in there.  


Larry King:  WE GAVE HIM THE LORD .         (you're a Jew Larry?  I didn't know that!  :lol:  :lol:  You and Gene gave us the Lord?  :lol:  :lol:  :clap:  :clap: )


Gene Simmons, what a guy!  He calls the caller 'gentleman' and points out the 'ironic twist.'

You would almost think the guy's a university professor in the way he talks.

In reality, he's a guy who'll even put the KISS brand name or his face anywhere, even on urinal cakes,  just to put more greasy money in his already multi-millionaire pockets. Yes you read that right, URINAL CAKES!


Guys: Could you take a Pee if Gene Simmons was staring at you?

http://www.inquisitr.com/26334/guys-could-you-take-a-pee-if-gene-simmons-was-staring-at-you/

He's Kiss vocalist/bass player, Family Jewels flaunter, serial promoter and happily unmarried to a playboy bunny. He's Gene Simmons and he's found another way to get his face in front of you – by encouraging you to pee on him.


Gene Simmons Family Jewels branded urinal cakes have been showing up in public restrooms around New York City recently. The puck sized deoderizers and disinfectants have an advertisment with Gene Simmons face emblazoned on them, giving you something to focus on and aim at while you're releiving yourself.


Personally, I'd be more releived if there were no aged rockstar looking up at me while I'm taking care of business, but that's just me.


And what's with him holding up his fingers like that. Is he supposed to be indicating how big (or how small?!?) something is?












Does this guy's greed for money know no friggin' end?   JESUS CHRIST !!!   Let us go pray to a  'Jew' and experience 'an ironic twist' ! :crazy:

[Negentropic]

[youtube:29bkqpqj]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=crSjmjc9i5k[/youtube]29bkqpqj]

Very revealing video from the past.


Larry King: Good !  What is your name so we can know you as a known Anti-Jew?   C'mon GUTSY    :lol:  what's your name?

Caller: You better believe it, 'cause I know what they're up to!

Larry King, as he's cutting the caller off in case he gets any more words in :  Have a good time gutsy!!


Gene Simmons: You know Larry, the most eloquent thing the gentleman who just called said was "Jews are to blame," however the most IMPORTANT thing WE ALL (who's we sucka?  :lol: He's addressing the entire audience now, goys and Jews alike, but especially those easy-to-fool Christian Zionist goys) have to figure is that when he does go to church he is praying to a Jew, there's an ironic twist in there.  


Larry King:  WE GAVE HIM THE LORD .         (WE?  Again? Oh It's a different WE now, you mean You & Gene & the rest of your kind, right? You're a Jew Larry?  I didn't know that!  :lol:  :lol:  I thought you were Italian! You and Gene gave us the Lord?  :lol:  :lol:  :clap:  :clap: )


Gene Simmons, what a guy!  He calls the caller 'gentleman' and points out the 'ironic twist.'

You would almost think the guy's a university professor the way he talks.

In reality, he's a guy who will put the KISS brand name or his face anywhere, even on urinal cakes,  just to put more greasy money in his already multi-millionaire pockets. Yes you read that right, URINAL CAKES!

Guys: Could you take a Pee if Gene Simmons was staring at you?

http://www.inquisitr.com/26334/guys-could-you-take-a-pee-if-gene-simmons-was-staring-at-you/

He's Kiss vocalist/bass player, Family Jewels flaunter, serial promoter and happily unmarried to a playboy bunny. He's Gene Simmons and he's found another way to get his face in front of you – by encouraging you to pee on him.


Gene Simmons Family Jewels branded urinal cakes have been showing up in public restrooms around New York City recently. The puck sized deoderizers and disinfectants have an advertisment with Gene Simmons face emblazoned on them, giving you something to focus on and aim at while you're releiving yourself.


Personally, I'd be more releived if there were no aged rockstar looking up at me while I'm taking care of business, but that's just me.


And what's with him holding up his fingers like that. Is he supposed to be indicating how big (or how small?!?) something is?












Does this guy's greed for money know no friggin' end?   JESUS CHRIST !!!   Let us go pray to a  'Jew' and experience 'an ironic twist' ! :crazy:







Always happy to meet and greet the suckers that continue to buy silly crap and make him rich 30 years after his band had their last hit album.









http://www.kiss4sale.com/index.cfm?do=detail&productid=3113




Celebriducks!!  Officially licensed Gene Simmons rubber duck. Individually packaged.


and let's not forget KISS fragrance so that you can stink like your favorite rock star





collect them all suckers !!!




I'm sure the officially licensed version of this toilet paper this guy's selling here is on its way just like the urinal cakes.. This guy will get sued soon if he doesn't watch out. Gene wants some of that ass-wipe money buddy!

http://jeremyinc.com/celebrityrolls/kis ... mmons.html

[kolnidre]

You gotta admit that VW Bug is pretty rad!

[Negentropic]

That VW is beyond insane! They should have used that in that "Dazed & Confused" Movie. Man did this guy come up with the perfect marketing idea!

These guys in KiSS were like the equivalent of 4 super-hero characters of rock'n'roll (hence the fact that they also have their own comics). They're more theatrical characters or symbols of silly, cheesy American suburban rebellion than anything else. The American psych on some level can't get enough of these gross-out-your-parents archetypes, they're suckers for it. If you can't gross-out your parents with Gene Simmons & Alice Coooper and Marilyn Manson then you piss them off with gangsta rap. When they can't sell them gross-out anymore they sell them nostalgia for their youth, the different fans competing against each other collecting silly things trying to recapture a part of their youth while Gene & Paul get richer and richer. Who did Americans use to gross-out their parents before Gene Simmons & Alice Cooper came along? I can't really think of anyone relatively as gory or weird to the so-called norm in the 50s and early 60s. Only the 70s could have allowed these guys to breath air without being lynched, after dirty stinky hippies had loosened attitudes and spread into suburbia for a good 6 years and David Bowie & Glam-Rock had brought in all that androgyny too. If this guy came out looking like that with the tongue & blood & outfit and all that shit in the early 60s, they would have crucified him. The followers of the Lord that Larry & Gene gave the world would have strung his ass up from a tree or kicked his ass straight back to the land of his birth before he could turn their kids into Satan  :lol: .  Actually I think Gene stole a lot of his basic make-up look and showmanship stuff from the 60s band Crazy World of Arthur Brown:


[youtube:17ggoflb]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NOErZuzZpS8[/youtube]17ggoflb]

[youtube:17ggoflb]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eXW9VJygRBA[/youtube]17ggoflb]

Where he stole the tongue business from I don't know. Probably from Hendrix who used to stick his tongue out like he was lickin someething during his solos.  Hey I've got a gigantic tongue, why not use it to gross the goy kids out some more?  Get your parents to give me some money you kids!  Here, see, my tongue licking my chin, see the chicken blood dripping? Now go get some money!  Hurry up !! Do ya wanna be cool or not?   :lol:

[MonkeySeeMonkeyDo]

Your filthy country is murdering millions, and you obviously could care less as you are here posting useless idiotic garbage that isn't relevant to anything -- like a true Yank bastard. :clap:

[Negentropic]

Ah shaddup !!  


It's not like I posted it on the urgent news for the coming doomsday apocalypse page Yiddy Yoda.  :lol:  :lol:  :lol:  :lol:

Why are you looking if it's such idiotic garbage?  You're obviously a fan of my book length dissertations.  :clap:  

Long Live the U.S. Constitution.   :up:  Ahmedinajacket can kiss my hynieh or better yet the Ayatollah's dead hynie.


 

Like you'd live for one month under a fundamentalist Islamic regime. yeah right !  MSMD Yiddy Yoda in Iran as Ahmedinejad's second in command fighting the Yids and Yanks.  :lol:  :lol:

[MonkeySeeMonkeyDo]

shut the fuck up you motor-mouth   bastard! I suspect you are a prominent member of the Armenian Jewish community and an admirer of Rabbi Meir Kahane and Baruch Goldstein. I suspect you are a descendant of the perpetrators of the Armenian genocide and you have a shrine dedicated to those crypto-Jewish mass murderers. All of your posts are useless garbage and worthless conjecture. Mazel Tov the fuck outta here you murder & lie worshiping skumbag.

[Negentropic]

shut the fuck up you motor-mouth  bastard! I suspect you are a prominent member of the Armenian Jewish community and an admirer of Rabbi Meir Kahane and Baruch Goldstein. I suspect you are a descendant of the perpetrators of the Armenian genocide and you have a shrine dedicated to those crypto-Jewish mass murderers. All of your posts are useless garbage and worthless conjecture. Mazel Tov the fuck outta here you murder & lie worshiping skumbag.

 :lol:  :lol:  :lol:  :lol:  :lol:  :lol:  :lol:  :lol:  :lol:  :lol:  You really told me off!  Some sense of humor you have!  I think I'm gonna go cry now Yiddy Yoda.  You really hurt my feelings!   :lol:  :lol:  :lol:

[CrackSmokeRepublican]

Looks like a little "wakeup" is underway after the makeup is removed (sounds like a film by Mike Delaney's Missing Links buddy):
[youtube:3b03ocwk]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5aIYa6yxsaA[/youtube]3b03ocwk]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5aIYa6yxsaA

[Negentropic]

Hey CSR, whaddaya think, he's a schmuck?   Why get you hands greasy when you can pay some schmuck-grease-monkey taco-money to do it?  Not that Gene or rather Chaim Klein Witz  minds doing a little dirty work but you gotta sign over the million dollar check first and then add on the chauffered limos and shiksa-service. Then he'll get on stage and throw-up some blood on tens-of-thousands of screaming schmucks for a couple of schmucky hours and go home to his mansion and private plane and Playboy Bunny shiksa-prize wife while the KISS army go back to their wage slave garages and offices with their KISS make-up on.  :up:


[youtube:2yadsqqp]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gz69qyVHw8E[/youtube]2yadsqqp]



http://blogs.tampabay.com/juice/2008/04/celeb-sightings.html?cid=152520403#comment-6a00d83451b05569e201157071919e970b





http://videoeta.com/person/739

Shannon Tweed

Age: 53
Born: March 10, 1957
St. John's, Newfoundland, Canada  

Did You Know?
•Shannon has two children with KISS rock star Gene Simmons, Nicolas and Sophie.
•Shannon was Playmate of the Year in 1982.
•Shannon was the third in a family of seven children.
•Shannon was involved with Hugh Hefner in the eighties. Their relationship ended and so did her playmate career when Hef discovered she was addicted to cocaine.





[youtube:2yadsqqp]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qYS732zyYfU[/youtube]2yadsqqp]







Schmuck Obama screws up a line from Emma Lazarus' "The New Colossus" for the Statue of Liberty
http://www.fireandreamitchell.com/2010/07/01/schmuck-obama-screws-up-a-line-from-emma-lazarus%E2%80%98-%E2%80%9Cthe-new-colossus%E2%80%9D-for-the-statue-of-liberty/











http://www.forgotten-ny.com/STREET%20SCENES/5bridges/5bridges.html








Dedicated to every schmuck who's ever shelled out a year's salary (or more) for an engagement ring


A Schmuck-owned jewelry shop in Germany -- at least they are up front and honest with the customer.  
SUBMITTED BY: Michael Mirman      LOCATION: Berlin, Germany






You've Got to Be a Schmuck to Believe This Bunkum
Let me start by issuing a very blunt generalization that some may take umbrage at. Sorry. As an old law professor of mine said, "Psychiatry is a joke and psychology is a bad joke." The New York Post reveals this story about a pair of schmucks who traversed the bounds of sanity like no one before.

http://weblogs.wpix.com/news/lionel/2010/05/youve_got_to_be_crazy_to_belie.html

[CrackSmokeRepublican]

Yiddish -- sadly, is still alive among Jews in the media. Most phrases remembered are not pleasant like the personalities of most Jews such as Gene Simmons.

 
===========
Selected Yiddish Words and Phrases - impress your friends and family   (With what? Insults...?   :wtf:  -- CSR )

 

A BI GEZUNT: So long as you're healthy. Expression means, "Don't worry so much about a problem, whatever it is. You've still got your health."

ALTER COCKER: An old and complaining person, an old fart.

AY-YAY-YAY: A Joyous, or at times sarcastic, exclamation.

BALABUSTA: The wife of an important person or a bossy woman.

BEI MIR BIST DU SHAYN: To me you're beautiful.

BERRYER: Denotes a woman who has excellent homemaking skills. Considered a compliment in the pre-feminist era.

BISSEL, BISSELA: A little.

BOBBEMYSEH: Old wive's tales, nonsense.

BOYCHICK: An affectionate term for a young boy.

BROCHE: A prayer.

BUBBA: A grandmother.

BUBBALA: A term of endearment, darling.

BUPKES: Something worthless or absurd.

CHAYA: An animal. "Vilda Chaya," a wild animal, is a term used to describe unruly children.

CHAZEREI: Food that is awful, junk or garbage.

CHUTZPAH: Nerve; gall, as in a person who kills her parents and asks for mercy because she is an orphan.

DRECK: Shit. Can refer to the ugliness of objects or people.

ESS: Eat.

FAYGALA: A male homosexual. (literally, little bird.)

FERBLUNJIT: Lost, mixed up.

FERCOCKT: All fucked up.

FERDRAYT: Dizzy, confused.

FARPITZS: All dressed up.

FERMISHT: All shook up, as in an acute disturbance.

FERSHLUGINA: Beaten up, messed up, no good.

FERSHTAY?: Do you understand.

FERSHTINKINER: A stinker, a louse.

FERTUMMELT: Befuddled, confused.

FRESS: To eat like an animal, i.e., quickly, noisily, and in great quantity. (Compare with ess, to eat like a human being.)

GAVALT: A cry of fear or a cry for help. Oy Gevalt is often used as expression meaning "oh how terrible."

GAY AVEK: Go away, get out of here.

GAY GA ZINTA HATE: Go in good health. Often said in parting but can be spoken with irony to mean, "go do your own thing."

GAY SHLAFEN: Go to sleep.

GELT: Money.

GONIF: A thief, a tricky clever person, a shady character.

GOY: A derogatory term meaning gentile, goyim is the plural, and goyisher is the adjective.

GREPSE: To belch.

GORNISHT: Nothing. Often used in a sarcastic manner, as in what did you get from her? Gunisht.

HAYMISH: Informal, friendly. A haimisher mensch is someone you feel comfortable with.

HOK A CHAINIK: To talk too much, to talk nonsense.

KIBITZ: To offer comments which are often unwanted during a game, to tease or joke around. A kibitzer gives unasked for advice.

KINE-AHORA: A magical phrase to ward off the evil eye or to show one's praises are genuine and not tainted by envy.

KISHKA: Intestines, belly. To hit someone in the "kishka" means to hit him in the stomach or guts.

KLUTZ: An awkward, uncoordinated person.

KOSHER: Refers to food that it prepared according to Jewish law. More generally kosher means legitimate.

KVELL: To beam with pride and pleasure, Jewish parents are prone to kvell over their children's achievements.

KVETCH: To annoy or to be an annoying person, to complain.

LOCH IN KOP: Literally a hole in the head, refers to things one definitely does not need.

LUFTMENSH: A dreamer, someone whose head is in the clouds.

LUZZEM: Leave him be, let her or him alone.

MACH SHNEL: Hurry up.

MACHER: An ambitious person; a schemer with many plans.

MAVEN: An expert, a connoisseur.

MAZEL TOV: Good luck, usually said as a statement of support or congratulations.

MEESA MASHEENA: A horrible death. The phrase "a messa mashee af deer" means a horrible death to you and is used as a curse. Some have suggested that Masheena is the origin for the insulting name for Jews of sheeny.

MEESKAIT: A little ugly one; a person or thing.

MEGILLAH: Long, complicated and boring.

MENSCH: A person of character. An individual of recognized worth because of noble values or actions.

MESHUGGE or MESHUGGINA: Crazy, refers to a more chronic disturbance.

MISHEGOSS: Inappropriate, crazy, or bizarre actions or beliefs.

MISHPOCHA: Family, usually extended family.

MOMZER: A bastard, an untrustworthy person.

MOYL: The man who circumcises baby boys at a briss.

NACH A MOOL: And so on.

NACHES: Joy. To "shep naches" means to derive pleasure. Jewish children are expected to provide their parent with naches in the form of achievement.

NAFKA: A whore.

NARRISHKEIT: Foolishness, trivia.

NEBBISH: An inadequate person, a loser.

NOODGE: To bother, to push, a person who bothers you.

NOSH: To snack. NOSHERYE refers to food.

NU: Has many meanings including, "so?; How are things?; how about it?; What can one do?; I dare you!"

NUDNIK: A pest, a persistent and annoying person.

ONGEPOTCHKET: Messed up, slapped together without form, excessively and unesthetically decorated.

OY-YOY-YOY: An exclamation of sorrow and lamentation.

OY VEY: "Oh, how terrible things are". OH VEZ MEAR means "Oh, woe is me".

PISHER: A bed-wetter, a young inexperienced person, a person of no consequence.

PLOTZ: To burst, to explode, "I can't laugh anymore or I'll "plotz." To be aggravated beyond bearing.

POTCHKA: To fool around; to be busy without a clear goal.

PUPIK: Belly button.

PUTZ: A vulgarism for penis but most usually used as term of contempt for a fool, or an easy mark.

RACHMONES: Compassion.

SAYKHEL: Common sense.

SCHLOCK: A shoddy, cheaply made article, something thats been knocked around.

SCHMALTZ: Literally chicken fat. Usually refers to overly emotional and sentimental behavior.

SCHMUCK: A vulgarism for penis, strong putdown for a jerk, a detestable person.

SHADKHEN: a professional matchmaker.

SHANDA: A shame, a scandal. The expression "a shanda fur die goy" means to do something embarrassing to Jews where non-Jews can observe it.

SHAYGETS: A gentile boy and man, also means a clever lad or rascal.

SHAYNER: Pretty, wholesomely attractive, as in shayner maidel (woman.)

SHIKSA: A gentile girl or woman.

SHLEMIEL: A dummy; someone who is taken advantage of, a born loser.

SHLEP: To carry or to move about. Can refer to a person, a "shlepper," who is unkempt and has no ambition.

SHLIMAZL: A chronically unlucky person, a born loser, when a shlimazl sells umbrella the sun comes out.

SHMENDRICK: A weak and thin pipsqueak. The opposite of mensch, a a physically small shlemiel.

SHMEGEGGE: A petty person, an untalented person.

SHMATTA: A rag, often used as a putdown for clothes of the unfashionably dressed.

SHMEER: To spread as in to "shmeer" butter on bread. Can also mean to bribe and can refer to the "whole package", as in I'll accept the whole shmeer.

SHMOOZ: To hang out with, a friendly gossipy talk.

SHMUTZIK: Dirt.

SHNORRER: A begger, a moocher, a cheapskate, a chiseler.

SHNOZ: A Nose. Jimmy Durante was known as a the great shnoz.

SHTETL: A Jewish ghetto village.

SHTIK: A stick or thing. Often refers to an individual's unique way of presenting themselves, as in "She is doing her shtik."

SHTUNK: A stinker, a nasty person or a scandalous mess.

SHTUP: An expression for sexual intercourse, to "screw."

SHVITZ: To sweat, also refers to a Turkish bath house. A shvitzer means a braggart, a showoff.

SHVANTZ: A word for penis.

SPIEL: To play, as in to play a game.

TCHOTCHKA: An inexpensive trinket, a toy. Can also mean a sexy but brainless girl. The affectionate diminutive is tchotchkala.

TSETUMMELT: Confused, bewildered.

TSIMMES: A side dish, a prolonged procedure, an involved and troubling business, as in the phrase, "don't make a tsimmes out of it."

TSORISS: Suffering, woes.

TSUTCHEPPENISH: Something irratating that attaches itself like an obsession. She has a tsutcheppenish that is driving everyone crazy.

TUCHES: Backside, ass, "tuches lecker" means ass kisser, one who shamelessly curries favor with superiors.

TUMMEL: Noise, commotion, disorder.

UNGABLUZUM: To look as if one is going to cry.

VER CLEMPT: All choked up.

VUS MACHS DA: What's happening? What's up?

YENTA: A busybody, usually refers to an older woman.

YENTZ: Course word for sexual intercourse. Also means to cheat or screw someone. Yentzer is the noun.

ZAFTIG: Juicy, plump. Can refer to food, ideas or people. A buxom woman.

ZIE GA ZINK: Wishing someone good health.

ZETZ: A strong blow or punch.

ZEYDE: Grandfather, or old man.

ZHLUB: An insensitive, ill-mannered person, a clumsy individual.


Marty Fiebert Department of Psychology CSULB

e-mail:mfiebert@csulb.edu
http://www.csulb.edu/~mfiebert/yiddish.htm

Gai feifen afenyam/Gai kakhen afenyam
go whistle in the ocean/go shit in the ocean
(Go jump in a lake. I think the second version is more common, but try telling that to a skittish editor.)

Zolst ligen in drerd! :You should lie in the earth! (Drop dead.)

Ver derharget: Get killed (Drop dead)

Gey gezunterheyt: Go in good health
(Yeah, go do whatever you like. Fine, don't listen to me. See if I care anymore.)

Gornisht helfn: Beyond help

Lokh in kop: Hole in the head

Tokhis oyfn tish: Put up or shut up

A brokh tsu dayn lebn.: Your life should be a disaster

A khalerye: A plague on you

A shaynem dank dir im pupik.: Many thanks in your belly button.
(Thanks for nothing. Say it fast and it sounds delightfully insulting.)

Ikh hob dir in drerd: Go to hell

A shvarts yor: A miserable year
(you should have...)

Alter kaker: Old shit
(Old fart)

Mamzer: Bastard

Schmuck: S.O.B.

Tsatskele: Bimbo

Tokhis leker: Ass-kisser

Shtup: Have sex. Screw. Boink.

Tokhis: Derriere

Zaftik: Stacked

Alivay: It should only happen

Farshtinkener: Rotten
(awful person)

http://www.sbjf.org/sbjco/schmaltz/yiddish_phrases.htm

[Negentropic]

MAZEL TOV: Good luck, usually said as a statement of support or congratulations.

What? Mazel Tov means Good Luck?  So does that mean MSMD telling me to "Mazel Tov the fuck Outta Here, You skumbag bastard" means "Good Luck the fuck outa here?"   Doesn't make sense!  Does MSMD understand Yiddish or not?  I thought a man of his Yiddy Yoda Yid-busting experience would at least get his Yiddish terms right.  :lol:  :lol:   :lol:


Whoever made this product right here definitely one-upped the Gene Simmons urinal cakes:


Why should dogs be the only ones allowed to drink out of the toilet? This silly toilet-shaped mug holds up to 12oz of your favorite hot beverage and will make your co-workers do a double take. The hand painted Toilet Mug makes a great gag gift for any coffee or tea lover, and will gross out anyone who has a weak stomach.

A toilet coffee mug? Man, that's so fucking disgustingly hilarious !!  It made me throw up from laughing!  :lol:  :lol:  :lol:  My next christmas present for grandma for sure!!  :lol:  :lol:  This was actually linked from that Gene Simmons Toilet Paper seller guy's page. Thank you Gene-Simmons-Toilet-Paper-seller- guy for making me throw up laughing.  :lol:  :lol:  :lol:

http://www.prankplace.com/product.aspx?p=28042&c=232&kbid=3679http://www.prankplace.com/product.aspx?kbid=5389&d=Funny-Men's-Gifts.THE-TOILET-MUG&p=28042&c=274

[Negentropic]

Larry seems to have gotten off light on this thread





Pass-the-Motza-Balls Senor No-Balls:  Brando forced to french kiss Larry in front of the whole world as punishment for opening his fat old trap about who runs tinseltown  






Larry hangs in automobile of renowned 21-st century poet Snoop Dog



Larry models for Armani



Larry models the Fonz look with pink bag Fonz wouldn't be caught dead holding










David Rockefeller Defends Banks?  In People Magazine, in the same issue as the Fonz? Those poor banks they've been so victimized !!!  :lol:  :lol: :lol:








Larry the old-school hipster;  75 going on 12;  :lol: What kind of clown dresses like this?  :lol:

[Whaler]

Holy shit! I thought those pics of Larry in his street clothes were photo shopped. What an embarrassment. :lol:
I'm 29 and I stopped trying to be trendy a few years ago. Larry is like 90 and still wants to be the coolest kid in class...what a bozo.  :crazy:


Larry's fashion consultants ^^

[kolnidre]

Larry Zeiger, definitely dressed by a tasteless publicist/wardrobe consultant

"Mohel" is spelled wrong in that cartoon.

Mohels should be cut out (yuck yuck) of modern society.

[CrackSmokeRepublican]

Larry King is a Corrupting Jew Personality that has done nothing  but support a sick Israel and support the Jewish corruption and destruction of America.
He's no different than the people he wants to emulate... typical Jew scammer... he needs a good pair of boots kicking his Talmudic corrupted ass out of the USA...  IMHO-- CSR

Tough Jews
By RICH COHEN
Simon & Schuster

Nate 'n' Al's

THEY ARRIVE IN German and Italian sports cars. They double-park and discard the ticket. They come through the door of Nate 'n' Al's, a delicatessen in Beverly Hills, they come in from the glare of Rodeo Drive expecting friendly faces. They are not disappointed. They float in on Italian-made shoes. They jam the aisles, fill the air, talk pseudo-Yiddish. They ask for the pickles, the ketchup, the herring, and they never say please. It's always gimme, gimme, gimme.

"C'mon, you heard Asher," says Herbie, folding his arms. "Give 'em the herring." Asher gets the herring, lays it on his bagel, and never says thank you. It's okay. It's understood. There are lots of things Asher never says.

They sit each morning at the same booth in back of the restaurant. They look over crowded tables and booths, over mingling bigwigs and hustling waiters, over the cigar case, where toothpicks and mints can be had for free. They blink in the half-light known to all true delis, where every morning is the same morning. They sit among Jews who have moved from the East--Baltimore, Chicago, Brooklyn--and are now looking for something that got lost on the way west. They arrive at the hour agreed on the day before. "Nine A.M. tomorrow," Sid had said, tapping his watch. "Last to come, pays. Agreed?" Heads nod. Agreed.

Today, Sid is the last to come. Sid will pay. Sid is a man of his word. He follows the rules. "Especially when they're my rules," he says, sliding into the booth. "A man who breaks his own rules is no man at all."

Sid is a few inches under six feet tall and broad shouldered and burly, but size is not the first thing about him you notice. The first thing you notice are his eyes, which are full of mischief. "Good eyes see the present and the past right at the same time," he says.

Sid has good eyes. Over the last several decades he has moved west with the country, from New York to Los Angeles. He has passed time at real estate conventions in the Midwest, drink in hand, corn and rye ripening all around. He has been to seminars, talked PTA, the future of the Rust Belt, computers, the explosion of the Southwest, the Internet. Still, in all these years, in all the houses with all the women, he never took his eyes off Bensonhurst, the neighborhood in Brooklyn where he came of age fifty years ago. Wherever he goes he surrounds himself with people who remind him in some vague way of those kids who formed his world in Brooklyn, where every son was an immigrant's son, every dream the pipe dream of an immigrant's son. In Los Angeles, where so many of his boyhood friends have also landed, he runs with the old crowd. "Hello, fellas," he says, reaching for a menu. "Happy to see everyone looking so happy."

Sid is a millionaire. He was in real estate. He sold his company. He says being from Brooklyn is a full-time job. When Sid talks, it's in a high singsong that is pleasantly at odds with his frame. "I see I'm the last through the door," he says, motioning for a waitress. "Guess I have to pay. Well, okay. Don't be shy, boys. Eat up. I'm loaded."

They grunt in acknowledgment. They're lost in their food: Asher and his egg-white omelet, runny and covered in ketchup; Herbie and his bagel, light toast, light schmere; Larry picking at Asher's egg-white omelet, runny and covered in ketchup. "I want a bagel and a whitefish," Sid tells the waitress. As he hands her the menu, he says, "Tell the counterman to gouge out the eyes. I don't want breakfast looking at me."

"Hey, Asher, you trying to hide your eggs from me?" asks Larry, looking at Asher's plate. "What's with all the ketchup?"

"Shut up," says Asher. "No one invited you."

A breed of such men thrive in Los Angeles, brokers, lawyers, entertainers, entertaining lawyers, promoters, moguls, former furriers, distributors, importers, exporters, self-promoters, men of leisure. They fled Brooklyn thirty-five, forty years ago and have shed as many outward signs of their heritage as would be shed, yet still retain something of the old world, a final, fleeting glimpse of what their fathers must have been. Their faces are concentrated, their talk full of warnings, premonitions of things to come, of time repeating itself, of good men stripped of all worldly goods and left to fight again with nothing but instinct. Every time he enters a room, Asher notes where each man stands, who poses the biggest threat, and who, if necessary, he'll take out first. "This is the stuff I'm thinking about all the time," he says, wiping his hands." For me, it's just like a crossword puzzle."

On those mornings when the gang is in high form, when the stories come fast as tracks on a CD, they pull Nate 'n' Al's off into a swamp of time, where old Brooklyn comes face-to-face with modern Los Angeles. On such occasions, the group is an attraction to those who fill the outlying booths, the regular clientele of Nate 'n' Al's, who watch the gang as if they're watching mimes on stage, reading meaning in each gesture, seeing in them everything from how wealth is wasted on the uncouth to the last of a vanishing breed, whose very dialect, a thick Brooklynese, exists nowhere but in such storytelling, backward-looking circles. "They're trying to teach my grandkid Spanish in school," says Asher, yielding his plate to Larry. "What the hell? If he needs to learn anything, it's Yiddish. The language of my people is dying."

And when the men on stage look back across the restaurant, take in the eyes taking them in, what do they see? Many things. People who ruin every sandwich with mayonnaise, who buy high and sell low, who do what they're told, who say things like "It's nice to be important, but it's more important to be nice," who fall for every cheap carnie who comes through the door, and who know nothing of Brooklyn, of days when the old world existed alongside the new, when each roof looked like the scene of a police chase. "I go wherever I want to go and act like me," says Sid, looking around the room. "Everyone else's home is home to me."

Around each other, these men have a kind of ease that makes you want to confide things. The ease of old friends. Late nights. Stories by now more fiction than fact. Stories set on the stoops and corners of Bensonhurst, Flatbush, Brownsville, in a time when Jewish gangsters, that lost romantic breed, still roamed the streets, when Italians had no monopoly on hooliganism, when a Jewish boy could still fashion his future as murderous and daring and wide open, a future shot full of holes. Alleys. Blue smoky rooms. Basements. The ominous echo of footsteps. Leather shoulder holsters.

In his youth, Sid could leave his family's apartment house on Seventy-fourth Street, walk among the row houses to Kings Highway, where he could follow the immortal Sholem Bernstein, who ran "errands" for the Jewish Syndicate, clear out to the waterfront, where the world seemed to open up. If he tried hard, Sid could almost walk like Sholem, duck his shoulder like Sholem, drag his foot. Or like any of the other members of Murder Incorporated, a Jewish gang involved in racketeering, bootlegging, and shylocking. But all this happened so long ago, back when a Jew in jail didn't have to mean white-collar crime.

"Did I tell you guys who I met?" asks Larry, looking up from Asher's plate. "Mike Tyson. I interviewed him in the ring after that farce of a fight with that bum McNeely. We talked a little about the fight, then spent an hour on the old gangsters." Tyson is from Brownsville, the home of Murder Incorporated. And no matter how many middle-class families flee for the suburbs, for the shrubs and hedges of Long Island, heroes never really leave. "When Tyson talks about Lepke," says Larry, "he chokes up like a schoolgirl."

Larry is the television personality Larry King. As Larry Zeiger he grew up in Brownsville and Bensonhurst, tagging after people like Sid and Asher, dreaming of long nights on the radio. "I give Larry a hard time," says Sid, glancing at his friend. "Needle him. An hour goes by and still he can't believe what's happening, that someone's mocking Larry King. Larry Zeiger, maybe, but Larry King?"

Larry, held together by blow-dried hair and suspenders, is hunched over the table, checking his reflection in Asher's plate. Like the others in the booth, his trip to Nate 'n' Al's was an extended ramble over years and landscapes. In 1962 he was seated with a microphone in the window of Pumpernicks, a restaurant in Miami, interviewing any fool who happened through the door. One morning he ate alongside Meyer Lansky, an old man hosting an old friend, triggerman Jimmy Blue Eyes. "Lansky kept saying, `Jimmy, why do you stay in New York?'" Larry recalls. "`Do you know the temperature in Brooklyn today? Two. Why do you want to live like that? Move down here. Miami's the promised land.'"

A few years later, Larry picked a bad horse and was himself just about chased from Miami, splashed across the newspapers, and locked in some cracker jail. "I used to be there, but now, thank God, I'm here," says Larry, rapping the table.

Larry is in Los Angeles to cover the trial of O.J. Simpson. He flew in this morning, dropped his bags at the Beverly Wilshire, and walked right over. "Hey, Larry, what's the deal with that Simpson case?" asks Asher, picking up a fork. "What does the jury know? How sequestered is sequestered?"

"They had a conjugal visit last night, so they know everything you know," says Larry.

"Conjugal visit? How often do they have those?" asks Asher,

"Once a week."

"That's enough," says Asher. "I'd have time left over."

Asher is the dashing dark-eyed member of the group. When he smiles, his eyes disappear. His hair is gray, his glasses tinted. He sells real estate from an office around the corner. "When did you get in, Herbie?" he says, looking across the table.

Herbie has dozed off. This means nothing. Herbie dozes off all the time. He is relaxed. He once dozed off while having his teeth drilled. "Hey, Sid, shake Herbie."

"What?" asks Herbie, opening an eye.

"When did you get in?" Asher repeats. "Don't tell me you've been out here hiding from your pals. That'd break my heart."

"No, Asher," says Herbie, closing the eye. "I got in late last night."

Herbie is my father. My whole life, Herbie has been happy to see me. When he sees me, he acts in a way entirely unlike the way he acts before he sees me, something I know from overhearing him and from the way he is described by friends. When he does not see me, his language is filled with obscenity, with cocksuckers and motherfuckers and fuckin' pricks. One thing that frequents his stories--before he sees me--are dead men. "That motherfuckin' cocksucker and those fuckin' pricks he calls a crew are dead men." After he sees me, the talk is about the future, the way one should act, God, the mysteries of life, the neighbors, what Hank Greenberg would hit in this park, funny road signs, Jewish sports legends.

Before he sees me, his talk revolves around Louis Lepke and Gurrah Shapiro. After he sees me, it's Sandy Koufax and Sid Luckman. Of course, the same thing that drives his conversation (without me) to Louis Lepke drives his conversation (with me) to Sandy Koufax. It's all about Jews acting in ways other than Jews are supposed to act, Jews leaving the world of their heads to thrive in a physical world, a world of sense, of smell, of grit, of strength, of courage, of pain. "The day Koufax refused to pitch in the World Series on Yom Kippur was a great day for our people," says Herbie.

In the house where I grew up, we had no fewer than three books on the exploits of Jewish sports legends. My father used to point out the entry in The Baseball Encyclopedia that encapsulates the entire experience of the Jews in America: "Mo Solomon. `The Rabbi of Swat.' At Bats 8. Hits 3. Born New York, N.Y., 1900. Died Miami, Florida, 1966." In my house we did not have a single book on Jewish gangsters. And though I enjoy the conversations I have with my father (home runs, no-hitters), I sometimes wish I could talk to him before he sees me, a conversation about Lepke and Shapiro, a conversation riddled with obscenity, a bloodbath of a conversation where every other sentence hides a dead man.

My father has a highly expressive face, where every emotion registers like a shade of light. The lines in his face run north to south, like furrows in a mountain. He talks in a slow, drawn-out manner that pulls people in and holds them longer than they intended to stay. Friends call looking for me and spend hours on the phone with him, at last agreeing he is right, they are on the wrong career track, heading nowhere fast.

My father grew up with Sid and Asher and Larry in Bensonhurst. They formed a gang called the Warriors but never really had the opportunity or inclination to emulate Murder Incorporated in any way other than language and dress. And nicknames. They gave themselves the sorts of loopy nicknames gangsters are supposed to have: the Mouth Piece, Who-Ha, Inky, Bucko, Lefty, Gutter Rat, Moppo. My father named himself Handsomo, a name that to me sounds ridiculous. Still, some of the old gang insist my father really was good-looking. "Your old man deserved to be called Handsomo," Larry told me. "He had dark black hair and green eyes, a rare combination in our neighborhood." Larry has written at least two books that chronicle Herbie's childhood exploits. My father moves through such texts the way the youthful hero, the hero destined to fall, moves through all coming-of-age novels: "There was a stage in my life when I wanted to be Herbie," wrote Larry. "Herbie was a provocateur. He was a schemer and a troublemaker, but he was in it for the sport, and he got just as much satisfaction getting into trouble as getting out...."

After serving in the army and graduating from NYU law school, my father was hired by Allstate Insurance Company, where he announced his daily arrival saying, "Company Jew passing through." Several transfers later (New Jersey, Long Island, Illinois) he quit Allstate and set out on his own. He would consult, lecture, negotiate. "Just who will you consult?" his father asked at the time.

"General Motors," said Herbie.

"How long has this General Motors been in business?"

"For decades, Dad," said Herbie.

"And have they done okay without you so far?"

So my father found himself starting over in the wilds of Illinois, where the "s" is silent. And as I grew up, I found that I was becoming in some ways very different from him. I came to see myself as a midwestern character, as open and friendly as the plains, while he only wrapped himself more tightly in Brooklyn. By age fifty he had developed a great man theory of history, whereby all men of significance are from Brooklyn. "You like that guy?" he would ask, looking at the TV. "Well, that's another one from Brooklyn."

About ten years after he quit Allstate, my father wrote a book that went on to become a best-seller. The book was called You Can Negotiate Anything, a title for which I was punished in high school. "You can't negotiate everything in this class, Mr. Cohen."

Oh, yeah? Fuck you.

To me, that title, You Can Negotiate Anything, sums up the ethos of his old block, an ethos that means as much to Sid and Asher and Larry as it does to my father. It's about being savvy, about never letting anyone know if you're real or fake, crazy or sane, righteous or fallen, good or bad. It's about risks. On family trips, my father would steer the station wagon as he read the paper (stretched wide across the wheel) and ate a hamburger (left hand). "Any damn fool can drive a car," he would say, turning a page. "Reading the paper, eating a meal, and driving a car, now that's something!"

During the Korean War, my father, like Elvis--who, incidentally, was not from Brooklyn--was stationed in West Germany. He was stationed in Bad Kissingen on the East German border a decade after the Second World War. One day, looking over some grainy photos of him in fatigues, I asked if this scared him, being surrounded by men who may have been Nazis so soon before. "Scared?" he repeated, as if I were a fool. "Hey, baby. I had a thirty-eight on my hip. That means when I talk, you listen. Army of occupation, baby. I wasn't the one who had anything to be scared about. The Kraut, the Jerry, the Hun, that's who was shaking."

And this is a lesson many Jews of my father's generation took from the war. Shooting is bad. Shooting is to be deplored. But if shooting should break out, make sure you're on the right side of the gun. Army Of occupation, baby! Which is one reason my father's friends cling to the romantic image of the Jewish gangster. In their formative years, those following the Holocaust, as they were faced with the image of dead, degraded Jews being bulldozed into mass graves, here was another image, closer to home--Jews with guns, tough, fearless Jews. Don't let the yarmulke fool ya. These Jews will kill you before you get around to killing them. Bugsy Siegel, Abe Reles, Louis Lepke, antiheroes whose very swagger seemed to provide another option. If Jewish gangsters still thrived today, if they hadn't gone legit, if Jews of my generation didn't regard them as figments, creatures to be classed with Big Foot and the Loch Ness monster, I think the Jewish community might be better off. After all, everyone needs someone who gives them the illusion of strength. How else to explain the sacred position in which American Jews hold the Israeli army? Army of occupation, baby!

The Jewish gangster stories told each morning by my father and his friends are really the remnants of old neighborhood stories, legends that have been passed from clubrooms and street corners to boardrooms and delis and on to suburban towns, like the one where I grew up. Over the years, in tellings that have worn them smooth, these stories have certainly been worked up and embellished, fitted less to the need of the subject than the teller. The story I am left with is therefore not so much one of facts as the noise those facts make passing through time. It is a story of shifting perspective, the way a group of Brooklyn thugs, each with his own rise and fall, fills a need in the lives of my father and his friends, and also in my life. So what follows is less a straight history than the story of a Brooklyn gang as seen through the eyes of my father and his friends, and then that story (my father looking at gangsters) seen through my eyes, like laying colored glass over colored glass.

And though this story sprawls across decades and time zones, from the stoops and candy stores of Brooklyn to the driveways of suburban Chicago, where fathers let their sons win at basketball, it is really just the story of three generations: the gangster generation, that handful of early century Jews who tried to bust into the palace with a crowbar; my father's generation, diligent sons who carried us over the threshold with hard work; my generation, cool-thinking suburbanites who wonder what it was like back on the outside. For people like me, who grew up hearing only of the good Jews, fund-raisers and activists, the gangsters offer a glimpse of a less stable time, like the Ice Age, when a greater variety of species thrived on earth.

The Jewish gangster has been forgotten because no one wants to remember him, because my grandmother won't talk about him, because he is something to be ashamed of. Well, to me, remembering Jewish gangsters is a good way to deal with being born after 1945, with being someone who has always had the Holocaust at his back, the distant tom-tom: six million, six million, six million. The gangsters, with their own wisecracking machine-gun beat, push that other noise clear from my head. And they drowned out other things, too, like the stereotype that fits the entire Jewish community into the middle class, comfortable easy-chair Jews with nothing but morality for dessert. Where I grew up, it was understood: Even the most reckless Jew winds up in medical school. Well, the gangsters helped me clear this trap, showing me that since the worst is possible, so is everything else. If a Jew can die in the electric chair, anything can happen.

After living in Chicago for twenty-seven years, my parents repatriated east, settling in Washington, D.C. Every now and then, however, when my father is in Los Angeles on business, he spends his mornings at Nate 'n' Al's. Once there, he picks up the narrative of the Jewish gangsters like something he left off only a moment before. "One day, I'm coming home from school and this guy comes running onto Eighty-fifth Street," says Herbie, coming out of his doze. "A car lurches after him and two guys come out. They're wearing hats. They throw the guy against a wall. They get him by the neck, punch him in the stomach. He doubles over and they kick him in the head. The guy slumps against the wall. As the thugs walk back to the car, they see me and one says, `What the fuck are you lookin' at?' That was the first time I saw real violence--cruel, unprovoked violence. This wasn't two guys fighting. This was something else."

In a real way, people like my father, Sid, Asher, and Larry are the offspring of those old gangsters. They grew up on the same blocks, were part of the same world, were being pulled toward the same future. They were children on streets where Lepke and Reles were parents, grandparents. In some way, Sid, Asher, Herbie, and Larry are the dream the gangsters had of the future. Jews who are indistinguishable from Americans. Jews who are Americans. Jews who go to temple with all the nonchalance of a President Clinton going to church. Jews washed clean of Odessa, the shtetl, the camps, the tenements, millionaire Jews who drive German cars, who make legit deals before breakfast that pay off just after lunch.

And still, these Jews, are they happy? Can they ever be happy? Is any real Jew ever happy? Happy, is that a word you would use to describe Moses? Jesus? Freud? Einstein? Groucho? Hell, no, they're not happy. They crave the physical power of gangsters. They've seen The Godfather dozens of times. They talk tough in the produce line. Mess with them, you'll get hit with something heavy--maybe. No. They're not happy. They long for the past, for a time when all the old assumptions about Jews were like the German mark after the Great War--worthless.

Each day, after the eggs but before the coffee, after the box scores but before the futures, conversation turns back to those old criminals. And in the gang's deliberate way of speaking, you hear again the voices of killers under the bridge, the Gowanus Canal at dawn, sharpies and sharks, washlined streets and early morning walk-ups where young hoods make their last nocturnal rounds as sucker big brothers are just rousing for another chicken-shit payday at work.

(C) 1998 Rich Cohen All rights reserved. ISBN: 0-684-83115-5

http://www.nytimes.com/books/first/c/cohen-jews.html

[Negentropic]

Larry Zeiger, definitely dressed by a tasteless publicist/wardrobe consultant

I don't think any wardrobe consultant could possibly be that tasteless and clueless a practitioner of horrific fashion schizophrenia to allow the absurdity you see in that last picture!  Nope, Larry did that on his own. :lol:  :lol:  :lol:  

Larry King is a Corrupting Jew Personality that has done nothing but support a sick Israel and support the Jewish corruption and destruction of America.

He's no different than the people he wants to emulate... typical Jew scammer... he needs a good pair of boots kicking his Talmudic corrupted ass out of the USA... IMHO-- CSR

You're giving him too much credit, CSR. He's just a talent-less clown given a high profile job by that Shabbos douche Ted Turner, no doubt influenced by the higher-up Arabs who run CNN who can't even ask interesting questions. Ted was just another Senor No-Balls passing the Motza-balls.  :lol:  :lol:  :lol: Toeing the line on Israhell goes without saying with all MSM broadcasters and celebrities appearing on any talk-shows.  As far as radio or TV broadcasters go, I would much rather boot Howard Stern's disgusting ass right back to Israhell so he can broadcast his butt-bongo-fiesta stripper-spankings, guess-who's-the-Jew constests from there instead of Jew York.  Now someone like Stern, having some actual comedic and so-called 'gift-of-gab' talent of however a low and degraded a nature,  and not being a 'conformist' on the surface and supposedly a 'free-speech advocate' or so-called anti-establishment but, of course, still ultimately toeing the official Jew line, easily corrupts more unsuspecting fools in 1 year than Larry-the-brown-nosing-relic probably did during his whole softball-question-asking pre-arranged career.  


Howard Stern does Larry King; hilarious bit; being funny against so-called 'establishment' figures like Larry is enough to convince a lot of airheads that Howie's one of their own, on their side. It's the ultimate con; a few years later, once he has a huge audience, when he's already got a hundred million dollars in the bank, he sells their asses down the river.  Besides, he herds his audience like a cult, lowering the common man to the lowest common denominator and keeping him comfortably numb and chuckling at his own mediocrity instead of lifting him up to something better that might really shake things up.    
[youtube:2t9j0l3v]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VKAyt-9tzz4[/youtube]2t9j0l3v]


Alex Jones Reacts To No-Planers On The Howard Stern Show
[youtube:2t9j0l3v]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VuIo5zGFZJw[/youtube]2t9j0l3v]

Alex Jones & side-kick Bermas discuss Howard Stern & Jesse Ventura's appearance on Stern; Bermas admits he's a huge fan of Stern, Alex calls Stern a bastard and tells him "You better listen to what your boys are saying about me, cuz you're on VERY THIN ICE!"   :lol:
[youtube:2t9j0l3v]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kJq-NDAFtnw[/youtube]2t9j0l3v]


Larry's ex-boss standing next to William Gates, George Soros and David Rockefeller. I don't know who the women are, I guess they're the shape-shifting lizard-morphing wives.