Attack of the Yentas
Well yesterday the yentas read my most recent blog posting and, long story short, I’m lucky to have made it out of the Den alive. To be sure, I expected a steady trickling of the yentas reading the blog entry and passing it along within the ranks. I figured this would defuse any mass protest from the yentas. In addition, I anticipated that time and other distractions would help make the memory of my posting fade away and defuse the motivation for a group blitzkrieg. However, mine was an error of underestimation, a military blunder, a faulty strategy. To my dismay, one of the yentas actually pulled up the blog on her smart phone and read it aloud to the entire gathering, which was considerable. Did I mention that she did this whilst I was in the Den? I felt like the monster in Frankenstein when the townspeople formed an angry mob, armed with torches and pitchforks, to attack the source of their nightmare. The yentas began to bare their fangs and claws. It was a frightening sight.
There I was, alone, inside the lion’s den, unarmed and unprepared. To say I was scared is a gross understatement. I knew I could not subdue the crowd with brute force. Their numbers were too strong for such an approach. I had to rely on la lengua de plata. It took some pretty savvy diplomatic maneuvers to quell the yentas and avert an attack. Shoot, I should be the Secretary of State.
The yentas cornered me and attempted to force a cease-and-desist order upon my blog, and more specifically, postings about their secret society. I am adamantly opposed to censorship of any type so I calmly but unequivocally explained that I had an obligation to the Steely Dad Nation and that I would not be able to fulfill their unreasonable request. (I have learned that the yentas can sense the slightest bit of fear so it’s best to develop an air, however manufactured, of confidence.) After much debate and negotiation, we came to an understanding: I can continue to write my blogs as well as stories about the Den of Yentas but I do so at my own peril. For you, the reader, I am willing to accept this as an occupational hazard.
Now when you read Steely Dad, understand that I am assuming tremendous risk on my life to bring you the juice. But this is the greatest story that must be told.
