![]() ![]() He may sit on august committees and be Assistant Commissioner for Human Opportunity, but a Jewish boy with parents alive is a 15-year-old “ until they die.” So, the eternal reproach, no nice Jewish wedding, no grandchildren the shadow of the barmitzvah over all that gentile-screwing the fascination of all those secretions and apertures, American apertures and the built-in Jewish homily calling to order guilt at the prow, rebellion at the helm, the sheepish Id in irons still aboard the not-so-Jolly Roger. ![]() He identifies with the male: kicking his mother in an early tantrum is partly filial: “You schmuck, I kicked her for you.” Years later, laying the Pilgrim-stock niece of his father’s employer is a small revenge for dad’s years of exploitation. Now ve may perhaps to begin, Yes?”)įather, martyred by constipation later matched by son’s hyperacidity, sold insurance to blacks and Puerto Ricans you could eat your dinner off mother’s floors when good, Alex is the apple of her eye, naughty he is guilty of unspeakable crimes against Jewry and his toiling parents the guilt sticks, confusion abides. ![]() “Portnoy-oy-oy-oy” when Jewishness grabs his wincing psyche by the short and curly – is talking to his analyst (Punchline after pouring out the vials of his pullulating ululating sex life, “So. Newark-bred, mother-stifled, father-exasperated, Alexander Portnoy – “Portnoise” when inventing a New Orleans pedigree for the goy girls who infest his growing fantasies, “Portnose” when his proboscis threatens to give the game away. ![]()
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