Tag Archives: Long Island

Chaim Witz Files A Complaint

You might think this a no-brainer but my tongue is really tired. I can hardly form a sentence much less enunciate a lyric about how I want to rock and roll a lot, like all night for instance. You people—ladies—take that line way too seriously, seriously. I love rocking out and rolling around, but give me a break. Everything is taken so literally these days. What you’re probably thinking when I sing about wanting to stay up all night long and then wag my tongue for a few bars of deep, body-penetrating bass—I can’t even imagine. Gross.

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Back when I wrote the majority of my musical cannon, back when brown and yellow and fake wood were cool and long hair was rad, back when people made love missionary style because the other two styles hadn’t been invented by me yet, back when nobody painted their face or wore studded leather or platform heels until I solicited three super-cute-cool guys I met at the beach to dress up like I had always really wanted to but had felt self-conscious—like BDSM demons, though I specifically asked them to make their costume-identities less masculine and named them Starchild, Catman, Catwoman and me, the Demon—back when my Dad told me I wasn’t from Long Island but was actually born in Israel and that my real name was  Chaim Witz, I started wearing my hair up in a cute little bun, and music started rolling off the pointy tip of my very average-lengthed tongue.

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From then on I started getting mail, telegraphs, packages, phone calls, voice messages, voicemails, text messages, texts, emails, comments, tweets and vines from people asking me if I would use my tongue to service their bodies in every disgusting and perverted way you can imagine. You can’t imagine. It has been awful.

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What’s worse, people have always confused me with other celebrities: Ozzie Osbourne—obi, Patton Oswalt, The Wizard of Oz, Liza Minnelli, Mario Batali, Pavarotti, Boy George—a close friend, and Muammar Gaddafi. But I’m a Jewish Rock Demon, so that last one doesn’t make sense at all. Ghaddafi was all Country Western. Anyway, I’m about to lose my patience with you people. I’m not servicing any of you anymore. I’m tired of being stereotyped, tired of being used, tired of being profiled, tired of being judged, tired of giving and never taking, tired of being your little toy, tired of doing whatever you say, tired of being scared to say no, no matter who you are or how well I know you or how strong you are or how you make me feel inside.

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This isn’t fun anymore. I don’t need this. I don’t need you. I have a band and we’re going to be together forever. Forever. Stop taking my lyrics so literally. I don’t want to stay up all night. And I don’t want to rock or roll past 9:30 on a weeknight. I never have. I never will.

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Ambition

Dear Woody / To Whom It May Concern:

Is it who or whom? It is I, or is it me? Shall I or will I get the job? These are the things about which I am concerned. I am a perfectionist: I seek out the undotted, uncrossed, uncomma’d, unimportant imperfections that could perfect a manuscript or land a major publisher.

My last job was ghostwriting a ghost story, which truly characterizes my career ambition. I aspire not to be a writer, but a ghostwriter. The fact that my employer, the author of the ghost story, was my father, does not mean I was hired due to nepotism. I did a good job, though the story was never finished.

You consider yourself a comedian, and I agree. You can be very funny, in a way, at times. I have not seen many of your films, but I have heard all about them from my father. Comedy ghostwriting is not my forte, but I am willing to try new things. The idea you have for this particular manuscript needs some tweaking, in my opinion. You have a doctor, a lawyer, and a writer sitting around a table at a kosher diner, sharing their wildest sexcapades, romances and existential crises. My question is, does the diner have to be kosher? You may risk deterring your gentile (myself included) readership.

I want this job, because I love city culture—the food, the smells, the people, the languages. I speak roughly four languages, in other words, I speak four languages very roughly, but if you ever need a letter written in German, I am an experienced Google Translator. I live on Long Island, so I speak Yiddish as well as anybody else would a dying language.

I am very excited to hear back from you. I check my email about fifty times a day. Please don’t leave me hanging.

Sincerely,

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