But, Very Hot Jews, HOW Do I Stick It To Hitler?

We're glad you asked. We think you're going to like the answer.

The answer is: sex.

(You're welcome. And yes, you may buy us a drink. Simon'll have a sassy 7&7. Sera will have a martini — three olives. Hold on a sec while we down these; we're pretty sure our advice only gets better the more we drink.)

While we drink, a quick note: the following paragraphs advocate reproduction. And in the name of full disclosure, we feel compelled to note that we have no intention of following our own advice (much more about that later, but for now suffice to say that these lives are for mature audiences only) and take no responsibility for the repercussions of precipitous parenthood, m'kay? Hey, the lady said three olives!

So, yeah. Hitler had a giant stick up his ass just because he was adopted and a bad artist and had a tiny, tiny, microscopic penis. Instead of doing what a reasonable person would have done-- i.e. seek therapy from a nice Jewish shrink-- Hitler developed this elaborate plan to make everything better. The plan boiled down to (spoiler alert!): kill all Jews. His marked annoyance with us Hebrews makes sense, since we appear to have everything he lacked: we Jews tend to have warm, close-knit families, and we're by and large very creative and artistic (see: Industry, Entertainment), and as you probably know our menfolk seriously deliver in the challah department.

The Very Hot Jews are, understandably, somewhat focused on sticking it to the little fucker.

We stick it to him by foiling his plan-- we stick it to him by making more Jews.

You hear what we’re screamin’: Find a nice Jewish girl, put on a tie, take her out somewhere Zagat-rated, fuck her brains out and make her yours. Girls? Same deal with the hardy, corn-fed Jewish fellas. You can’t all have Sera’s brother – no matter what he says – so hie thee to JDate and get working. Yes, you can lie about your weight. It’s all part of sticking it to Hitler.

The good news here is that it’s fun, sticking it to Mr. Worst Person Ever. It involves a lot of sex. That’s probably enough said right there, but just to add to your motivation, keep the following in mind.

1. You can give your creativity free reign in the baby-naming department. No, Abraham Isaac Jacob Kleinfeldt is not over the top! The Jewier the name you select for your child, the more it screams, “How ya like me now, Adolf?”

2. Hitler feels a sharp pain “down there” every time a baby is circumcised.

3. The sound of a bawling Jewish infant causes Hitler’s duplex in hell (which he shares with a seven-phallused archdemon who repeatedly plumbs his anal cavity in between forced viewings of Yentl) to heat up by ten degrees.

Get cracking, people.

Arbeit Macht Freak

During World War II, the Nazis fretted constantly about the risks of venereal disease to the strapping Aryan officers of the Reich. Terrified that these perfect specimens of the white race might be brought low by whatever lurked in the untrustworthy nether regions of French whores, Himmler and his underlings devoted considerable resources to a new technology – an inflatable sex doll.

Think we’re joking? Well, it’s on the Internet, smarty-pants.

This “field-hygienic product,” named Borghild, would enable the Fatherland’s tow-headed supermen to spurt harmlessly into her plastic pudendum – thus relieving their lusts far from the predatory germs of Continental strumpets. Health would triumph once again, though the odds were against Leni Riefenstahl being brought in to shoot a close-up.

We ask you to picture Hitler’s best blonde boys mounting the inert boxes of the Borghild brigade, their pallid buttocks undulating in a passionately accelerating oom-pah-pah rhythm, their Teutonic moans answered only by the faint squeak of each Borghild’s durable, rubberized skin. Now recall that this spectacle was conjured by the Nazi leadership at the height of the war.

Those motherfuckers were seriously whacked in the head-ski, were they not?

Jews, who by and large embrace humanity, prefer to have sex with other humans. We reduce the odds of both pregnancy and venereal disease not by coupling with a plastic palimpsest but by wearing a rubber sheath called a condom.

Yeah: sorry to break it to you, but we are emphatically not telling you to ride ’em bareback indiscriminately. We may be unqualified self-help-book authors, but we’re responsible. We want you to follow the rules of sexual hygiene. We never, ever want it to burn when you pee. We’ve taken an informal survey (of the two of us), and apparently that stereotype of Jewish men and women liking a lot of sex is true. Go ahead and play that field, scarf down an erotic Whitman’s sampler of multi-ethnic paramours, sow wild oats galore -- straight into a brand-name prophylactic. Just keep in mind that there’s a point to all that pleasure.

Yep, The mental image of Jews getting down Kama Sutra-style makes angry smoke pour out of Hitler’s ears. And, most importantly, know that your period of “fun” (that’s promiscuity for you traditionalists) is just the appetizer. The main event transpires after the conversation about monogamy and romantic visit to the doctor to get tested.

Because when we really want to infuriate Hitler – by which we mean both the hideous phantom who burns in the hereafter and his many spawn, cloned and otherwise, who walk the earth even now – we don’t use protection.

Conceiving Your Little Anti-Adolf

So you’ve artfully cropped that flattering Waikiki vacation photo to exclude both the outsized frou-frou drink and its attendant beer gut muffin-topping your bathing suit. You’ve posted said winning snapshot on your personals profile and written a punny little caption (“Do Jew Love Me?”). You’ve created a borderline-plausible fiction in which you’re 2 inches taller, 14 pounds leaner, and actually graduated. And the responses from interested tribespeople flooded in. One lucky winner made the final cut: surviving intensive pre-date googling; maintaining enough dignity even after three mojitos not to gross you out; passing medicine-cabinet inspection (adequate but not obsessive attention to grooming, no anti-psychotics); maintaining (or helping you maintain) wood. In short, you’ve found a nice Jewish person you can love.

And so it is time for the glove to come off, for you to do your part to foil the Final Solution. Time to make a new Jew! A little anti-Adolf to love, feed, train and pack with a lifetime of neuroses and guilt like a little psychic lunch box.

You may have reservations. We understand.

True, college tuition is enough to make you want to blind yourself with a railroad spike. In fact, forget college for the moment – preschool tuition now costs more than a platinum-coated Lear Jet, and the screening process makes Harvard look like Phoenix Online University. Parenthood requires you to dig deep and surrender what you once considered indispensable for daily survival: Botox, phalanxes of Thai she-male prostitutes and of course tiny cocaine rafts (nobody wants to climb out of the hot tub to do another bump). But these sacrifices pale compared to the delirious joys of daddy- and mommyhood. We promise.

Even if you can bear the financial brunt of procreation, the process will undoubtedly wear on your nerves. You’ll constantly find yourself pulling little Naomi and Seymour away from electrical outlets, knife drawers and cliff edges (um, why are you bringing the kids to a cliff, anyway?), only to surrender the wee nippers to the school system in a few years. Putting aside the fact that budget cuts have rendered actual learning an after-school elective, today’s playgrounds and locker-lined hallways are a veritable swamp of vice, full of every debauched, destructive temptation you just gave up in order to be a parent.

Yes, kids these days are having “rainbow parties,” which means that your cherished infant will soon be on one or the other end of a cock embellished with the myriad lipsticks of a gaggle of competitive teenaged girls. We saw the Lifetime movie and we’re not surprised it made you want to get your tubes tied. It was utterly terrifying, and at the same time a stultifying reminder of how much fun you used to have before you squirted out junior.

But keep your eyes on the prize, here: The survival of our people.

We only want to help. And so we offer our handy guide to Jewish procreation ... in our next installment.