Fisking is blogosphere slang describing a point-by-point criticism that highlights perceived errors, or disputes the analysis in a statement, article, or essay…A Fisking is characteristically an incisive and fierce point-by-point rebuttal, and the aim is generally to weaken the target’s credibility rather than seek common ground.
This article was partially inspired by Fisking Aunt Mary.
Dear Uncle Moishy,
Everyone’s faaaaaavrite Uncle. Well, you’re not mine. In fact, I’ve spoken to the oldest living members of both sides of my family and they have confirmed that we’re not even related. Moving forward, I’ve received your latest email regarding Shabbos and I will not take it sitting down.
You write:
“Shabbos is coming…”
as if to say that if you didn’t tell me that, I wouldn’t know it. Who died and made you the calendar?
You continue “…We’re so happy.”
Oh, YOU’re so happy. So, your saying that I’M not happy that Shabbos is coming?. Oh you’re soooooo frum.
“We’re gonna sing …”
Once again with the exclusionary language. I know I’m not a world renowned singing superstar like you but there’s no reason to get uppity about it.
“…and shout aloud.”
Oh that makes sense, shout at your family when shabbos preparations are lagging and candle lighting is approaching. Sounds like someone needs a heavy dose of some Marvelous Middos Machine.
Then, you simply repeat yourself with some more shouting, some whispering (I have no clue what that’s about) and telling things to the world (as if people in Bangladesh are actually buying your CDs).
Well, it felt good to get that off of my chest but if you think I’m finished, just you wait until you see my response to your “Hey Dum Diddly Dum” missive. Strap yourself in and hold on to your Mem hat, buddy.
All my love,
David (not your nephew)
Actually I grew up in a Staten Island neighborhood that was mostly Irish (also, Scandinavians, Germans, Italians, Jews, Poles…). No Irish Jews there, though. Anyway, the natives generally needed no holiday to get them drinking.
Now, on weekdays when I work in northern Indiana, away from home, I stay in a South Bend pad in the Irish Hills Apartments near Ireland Road. Go figure.
My mother worked for the US government in DC during WW2. Once a supervisor showed up there on March 17 wearing an orange tie (symbolic of the Northern Ireland Protestants). He was lucky to get out alive.
Bob, yes, but don’t tell.
To Bob #5: Next Shabbos (March 17th) we’re all Irish. Like Robert Briscoe, who was the first (and only) Jewish Lord Mayor of Dublin.
For those who didn’t get enough to drink on Purim, you have another chance next week Shabbos. Just wear a green tie.
David, you’re Irish?
Don’t get my ire up, Neil!
Oh, so I take it you’re a Pizza Song aficionado.
I was going to urge the olam to stand up for Uncle Moishy in light of this vicious unprovoked attack, but many may be finding it increasingly hard to stand up this afternoon.
LOL
Happy you didn’t fisk the pizza song.