I had the misfortune today of dealing with someone who reinforced every negative Jewish stereotype imaginable. At the risk of overusing a popular analogy, it was more annoying than having someone scrape a screaming baby across a chalkboard. By the end of the day I was seriously considering converting. I’m not sure what I’d convert to, but the thought of having my tummy filled with all sorts of chocolate bunnies, colorful eggs, and smooshy chickies had me thinking I might go out and get baptized tonight. A couple of delicious Jesus crackers adorned with Pepper jack cheese, and a phat gold chain with a cross on it would most certainly complete the conversion. My dreams of spring funtime baskets had me wondering what type of pagan barnyard feast led the baby Jesus to command his minions to start celebrating Easter. It can’t hurt that I was born on Good Friday. I do understand that this undeniable fact may not make me the actual Son of God, but at the very least it makes me a nephew, or one of his abandoned babies. If that doesn’t get me laid by some hot born-again stripper, I suppose I could cook up a wicked batch of holy water infused crack to seal the deal. Not too long ago I did have a delightfully memorable cracker that was blessed by a bishop, but silly me left it on the table when I went to work and my kitten ate it. Since then she started poofing her fur with enough hairspray to kill the ozone layer on 3 different planets and watching Jersey Shore, so I’m gonna have to have a talk with her about priorities before she gets lipo and turns into a little feline whore best remembered by her being a guest on Springer’s DVD “Uncontrollable Pussies”. She can’t get pregnant being spayed and all, but if she wound up getting crabs I’d have to give her to a smelly homeless person. All of this is a bit premature though, as I’ve yet to do any research on the Muslim requirements for virgin procurement.