Chapter 4: How I stopped being a motherfucker and became the soft funny crippled nipple-licker, I am still today (2)
It was Alex and Alex, my two only real friends in those times, that saved me from becoming a kind of psycho-patient for eternity, e.g. from going nuts and becoming friendly with suicidal tendencies. Alex Rosen, the lean sleek, but warmhearted copywriter and advertisement-star, whose career already took off at a young age and the other Alex, Hirschberg, the medical student, who would a few years later become a blessed owner of a well-to-do abortion clinic. Being bored and frustrated with his job, I found him in front of his Whiskey glass, half drunk and tired about his boring, but financially fruitful destiny, getting bad racist remarks out of his system like: “At least I mass-murdered another bunch of East German fetuses today”, relating to the fact, that now in in the beginning of the 90s, hordes of East German females, who had slipped into unwanted pregnancy, came to his modern western abortion clinic, which was hard to find in those years in the eastern primitive part of the reunified Nation of the Germans. But this was the future. In the much more hopeful here and now of this very year 1984, he already was the brutal cynical guy, his DNA was made of it, but first of all an excellent student and a good-looking winner. He regarded me as an essential part of his childhood and extended part of the family; me the rich, little nothing-doer Shmulik as both of them, Alex and Alex, used to call me with this mixture of male-macho love-care and this extra-portion of father-instinct for a victim like me, from the same forlorn tribe. It was a slight buster for my anti-hero-ego, when those two good-looking, basketball-playing German Jew-boy-gigolos, out of fascination for my hidden creative potential and out of pity for my sad, depressive fate, took me as their body to the bars, where the girls went crazy for them, and the guys bowed to them. But above all that, they gave me the only therapeutic treatment that was appropriate for me – harsh and ruthless treatment. They humiliated me and my self-destructing, wanna-be in-love-pain, drama-queen-show-off. Quickly they understood, that the best medicine for me was to fuck the god-damn mother of Hans, the Schwanz, or at least that I have to make jokes about doing so. Not, that god forbid Hans’ mother was a goddamn mother. Oh no, not at all, she was certainly a good mother, since Hans came out as a good and fine human being, but this stupid, primitive joke, which they tortured me with, all these nights through, when we smoked Afghan, drank Vodka and played poker, fulfilled his purpose absolutely. They burst out in long, uncontrolled attacks of laughter, realizing how awfully offended I became, getting a red head like some catholic virgin of the past or like some priest of the 18th century, when they made jokes about Hans’ mother’s hanging tits, aging cunt, how she would come like a German Blitz, when I would stick my circumcised juvenile carrot into her huge massive derniere, in order to revenge the loss of Mirale Finkelstein. And then, after several nights of torture, Afghan hash, Vodka and Coca-Cola, I started to laugh. Finally I started to seize the moment, to grab the genius therapeutic core of the thought. The little human rational me in me was grateful for this unexpected chance to put a sudden end to this hysterical life-episode of mine. It became clearer to me than ever, that being funny is so much more important than being hurt and dramatic. Although they were my same fucking age, they seem to me like two wise uncles – who are in charge of their hysterical, underdeveloped nephew. I got rid of my sick ego, not the Buddhistic way, but the American-Jewish-German way. By humiliating and ridiculing the shit out of it, Alex and Alex made me throw this sick ego, I had built out of mere helplessness, into the trash and started to become satisfied with the little I had.
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