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J.A.M.: Jews Against Madonna

SatiricPress.com
Above: My mother's name is Esther, and you Ma'am are no Esther!

[Ed.: His efforts to achieve world domination having failed, columinst Avrum Moishe has chosen to return to Satiric Press]

TORONTO (SP) — I'm thinking about starting a new protest group. Maybe I've been listening to too much Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger, but I'm definitely in a revolutionary mood. The latest thing to get my sheep is Madonna's transformation into a high priestess of Kabbalah. Kabbalah, for those who don't know, and I humbly include myself in this group, is an ancient form of Jewish mysticism. I thought that Jews weren't supposed to believe in that type of thing. But what do I know? I'm only circumcised, not sporting Full Metal Talus. Over the last year and a half, Madonna has become the biggest, if not the most public of the Hollywood Kabbalah boosters. The last straw for me was when she recently announced that she had adopted "Esther" as her new Kabbalah name.

Now wait just a g-damn minute, here! Esther's my mother's name, and it just isn't right or kosher for Madonna to adopt it for herself. As far as I know, the two of them have never met, but it is time for me to share a little bit of my soul. When I was 11 or 12, I would have died for the opportunity to worship at the throne of the original Material Girl. Many letters expressing my eternal devotion and nascent manhood were written and never sent. I constantly listened to her music and went to her first Toronto concert. I was no different than millions of other heterosexual and gay young boys. In our own ways, we wanted to do her, or for some, to be her, I guess.

It was through my discovery and obsession with Madonna that my fascination with Italian women began. As far as I'm concerned, they are the most beautiful women on this earth. Although I no longer find Madonna desirable or even tolerable in the least, the thought of her sharing a name with my mother is my worst Oedipal nightmare.

How can I forget that fateful August day back in 1985 when I purchased my very first copy of Playboy? It was the very last stapled edition, and Madonna was on the cover. I had my ever-obliging father write me a note that I was purchasing the issue for him. And like that, I was off to my local variety store. The owner of this particular store wasn't known for his ethics. Hell, that guy would've sold it to me without the note. The anticipation I felt that day was heart-palpitating. Ironically, I was still several years away from my descent into orgasm addiction. Me and my best (only) buddy, Harry Zembowski, then made our way to a nearby park to inspect the goods. This was Madonna in all her baby fat and hair galore glory. I did not think it could get any better than that. Of course I was right - it never has. God bless starving artists and the clever photographers who never throw anything out!

A few years later, Madonna would mean no more to me than hazy memories about a brief golden period in my youth. As she became older and increasingly hard bodied, her image left me limp. As for the music, I've never been remotely interested in European dance culture, so I just stopped listening. If not for the fact that every once in a while, I break out my nudie pictures of Madonna, her interest in Kabbalah would not phase me. She has been, and will always be an opportunistic dilettante, so what else is new? Now that she's calling herself Esther, just how the hell am I supposed to get the photographs of the old girlfriend out? It would be like sleeping with my mother, and there's no way I'd ever do that. I have not been this conflicted since I came across a seductively buxom lady named Avery in one of my many recreational magazines. It's like the old joke says, you never hear a woman in the throes of passion going "'F*ck me, Sheldon', 'Do me, Owen', or 'Take me Oswald!'" It's more like 'Do my tax return, Clifford!' or 'Get me another drink, Percy!'"

Above: Dynamite! Now that's an Esther!! [Florida on "Good Times"]

Even though these precious magazine photos pre-date Madonna's meteoric rise to fame, somehow I doubt that I will ever be able to use them again (not unless she drops this Esther shtick, and fast). It took Prince almost 10 years to re-adopt his own name, and I do not believe I could make it that long.

On a similar note, a girl I used to know who was from New Zealand once told me a funny anecdote about Russell Crowe. Her sister worked in the film industry down there, and claimed that Mr. Crowe had a tendency to cheer himself on in the first and third person when "entertaining" in his trailer between takes. Such tactics might work for an obvious stallion like Mr. Crowe, but alas, I am not even a sexual tadpole. The thought of my earliest sexual crush and my mother sharing a name is more than I can bear.

That's where J.A.M., my new protest group, comes in. Jews Against Madonna must stand up and unite in this cause. Who cares if the cause is just a smokescreen to protect a few cherished memories of an aging pervert? This will be our little secret, okay? I'll form this group under the guise of it being a protest about Madonna using Kabbalah as a self-promoting tool. We will burn her records, CDs and tapes (okay, nothing before True Blue). And her movies, well that goes without saying. I will personally make the supreme effort to gather up as many copies of her nude works as possible. Then I will stockpile them all in the hopes that one day they will be usable again.

Hopefully, I will be able to find people that share my point of view. If I can meet some hot honies in the process, that would be a sweet bonus. I know it's going to be tough; I'm not the easiest person in the world to get along with, and for some strange reason, there's still a lot of fondness for Madonna. I will be going against the prevailing tides, but then again, I always have. Maybe I should try to enlist Gwyneth in my efforts; I hear that she and Madge had a falling out over the former's unwillingness to adopt Kabbalah as extremely as the latter. If I could get a celebrity on my side, I think that things would really pick up steam. Apparently, she just had a baby, so that might be a no go. Still, a son's gotta do what a son's gotta do. The sanctity of a mother's name is sacred.

Don't even get me started on the triple entendre irony of Madonna's given name. You don't see me taking confession and eating the wafer, so what gives her the right to start appropriating my heritage. Perhaps I'll write to her and suggest that she try the Hare Krishnas next. I've always believed that Madonna would look most excellent bald. She's dyed and cut her hair so many times over the years, even her hair support squad no longer knows what's going on.

Above: Could this be Madonna's new look? If so, live long and prosper, Esther!
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