by Hagai Cohen

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I am a frustrated author who until the discovery of Ourboox was forced to self-publish on my blog
Member Since
Dec 2013
Published Books

The mourning procession



Come here walk next to me!


Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me.”


“Don’t look so innocent woman; you should be ashamed of yourself”

“What is it…..?”

“Don’t start with me now, it is not the time and not the place for denial.  You know very well what I am talking about”

“Please Marge what?…….”


“How could you do it to me, we are neighbors, we are invited to the same parties and to the same funerals, our kids go to the same school. What shall I tell them?   Especially to Rita she is seventeen remember!?”

“Listen…. ”

“Don’t you  ‘listen me’, you listen!   I swear in God and in the name of the late  Mrs. Berkowitz my mother in-law , if I had your  Sephardic  blood and  temper, I would shoot you point blank with my .38.”

“Marge, please what’s going on?”

“Yaa, ‘Marge’,  all of a sudden we’re friends.   At least you could do it to a women in different town or in the next borough, But to your neighbor?   How could I ever forgive you?   How can I show myself now in the supermarket or the Jcc.

“Marge! Will you please tell  me what is it all about?”

“Don’t you dare talk to me again!   You ruined my life; you completely destroyed my sex life.      

Every night,  while  lying in bed I am  imagining  you, in your bed with my wall paper decorating  your walls, yes my wall paper.   The same one I bought for my bedroom and didn’t have the time to paste it, cause my mother in-law was sick.   Why do you look so innocent, damn you, you did it on purpose didn’t you?


 Say something.”


“Ah, now I understand, you mean the cheap wall paper that was on sale at Home depot?”


Occasional meeting


“Jo! Jo Foyerman!  What a surprise!

I’m Jack Riply , remember?    The Forum High School 1968.  It is so incredible!  Meeting a friend on a street corner after thirty five years!  Ha, the good old days. I can’t forget. We chased the same girl. We smoked pot together.”

“You’re right Jack, it’s not only incredible it’s even inconceivable, to meet a person you did not see for thirty five years.   But believe me it’s nothing, compared to what I am experiencing.

Right now, I am meeting a person I’ve   never   seen before.

Hello, Martin Paskali if I may,    Jackson High 1972.”



Are men obsolete?


This strange and enigmatic topic started a debate between two women while they joyfully washed the dishes in the kitchen.

They both read an article discussing the scientific breakthrough enabling the birth of a female mouse through parthenogenesis, a process to reproduce a mammal fetus from two ovules.

“This is great,” said one woman “we will not need men for their manly services”.

“Are you crazy?”  said the other woman “who is going to kill the diabolical water bugs when I scream? Remove the mouse traps from the cellar, crawl in the attic to find my aunt’s wedding present before she comes to visit, or drive 40 miles at night when I crave an ice-cream?

“These are not serious arguments. Technology can eliminate the need for men’s muscles or anything else. ”

“Look, I don’t know what’s got into you?  My man is a typical man; he hugs me, wines me, loves me, complements me, romances me, and brings the toilet paper to the bathroom when I run out of any.  In exchange for that, I let him watch a football match once in a while with Buffalo wings and a six pack.”

“Your man is a good-for-nothing, degenerate, couch potato. With men like yours world progress will come to a standstill. Women who think like you should be eliminated. You cannot stop progress!  Reproduction with only maternal genes is the future. You will soon be witnessing the creation of the race of ‘womenoids.’  Men will be obsolete.”

“You are not joking are you?”

“No I am serious.”

“you are frightening and you made me shiver. Let me tell you one thing: until your world of womenoids will prevail, I’ll continue to make love the old fashion way, with my ‘couch potato’, and you, better start learning how to make love to an egg.”



Point of view


“Frank, we go tomorrow to ‘pier seventeen’, known to be   the best seafood restaurant in Seattle, famous for their grilled dolphin steaks.”

“Are you crazy Jo? You eat dolphins?  Who eats dolphins? I definitely do not eat dolphins.”


“Dolphins are not fish they are mammals.”

“But Frank, you do eat pork and beef, the animals that are this food are mammals too.”

“Yes but the dolphin is an intelligent mammal.”

“Oh, now I get your point of view Frank, you eat only stupid mammals; some of my best  friends will make great food for you.

“Look Joe I do not eat dolphins.”

“Ok  frank, we’ll get you sea cucumber, it’s not a fish, not a mammal,  not a plant  and it is not intelligent.”



Blind date





“What’s the matter why are you so quiet?  We have been communicating for so long and when we finally meet you have nothing to say?”

“I, I’m sorry, after chatting with you for so long I, I, envisioned a different person.”

“So did I”

“So what do you think we should do?  Shall we have a coffee and talk about it or just split quietly.”

“I do not know, what do you think?”

“The way I see it we both know we are desperate. The question is, shall we stay married to our fantasies or divorce them and learn to know each other?”

“Ok let’s have a coffee.”


An interview with and old shoe


“I lost my twin brother many years ago.

I am now lonely, old, miserable and useless.

We were very special in our days, all leather, and hand sewn with waxed real-twine.

We even came with a five years warranty.

We were very good squeakers; not sneakers as all the shoes are today.

The man who owned us was a legendary step-husband.

Ah, you want to know what a step-husband is?

Ok, a step-husband steps in when the real husband steps out, and when the real husband steps in he jumps out.

In one of his jumps I lost my brother.”


As many Clichés/slang as possible.


It is one of those days for Detroit Benny. He finds himself between a rock and a hard place. He knows he is in deep shit.

He is on the lam as   Captain Finnegan wants to have a word with him about giving a shake down to a corrupt cop.

Benny is not in the mood to talk. He is a two time loser and in this unfortunate shake, he ended holding the short side of the stick.

Finnegan however was not Detroit’s biggest problem.  His problem was Joe Colombo the mobster, who fixed a contract to liquidate Detroit Benny.

Lily, Joe Colombo’s babe, is pushing up the daisies after she died of venereal disease.  Venereal disease is not usually fatal; but Lily’s fate was sealed once she gave it to Joe Colombo. Lily with her verbal diarrhea and the morals of an ally cat squealed to Joe Colombo, that Detroit is the one spreading the Gonorrhea.

In fact Detroit Benny had the short arm inspection and he knows for sure  it was Lily who gave it to him.

Detroit knows two things:

1. Lily can’t save his ass, as she is as dead as a Dodo and dead men tell no tales.

2. Joe Colombo will never bury the hatchet unless Detroit Benny lies next to it.

Detroit Benny is now busy as a bee, to become a  shadow of his former self.


Stupid people should not have babies


The baby wearing the oxygen hood had been born with a heart malformation and was being flown for surgery.

Over the ocean, a distressed call alarmed the cockpit:

“Sir, the oxygen cylinders are empty! The baby is turning blue!”

“Improvise with the portable cylinders. Descending to unpressurized level, we’ll land en route!”

Upon landing, the captain visited the baby.

“This mask isn’t airworthy medical equipment!”

“My rabbi told me not to use your non-kosher mask,” said the mother. “I connected my own with a Scotch tape,” she said proudly.”

“Your rabbi, Madam, almost killed your baby. Maybe God saved him.”


Business deal


“Is it for sale?”  Asked the man pointing at my disabled motorbike.

“You don’t want it. It’s junk, it needs tires, brakes, a battery, and the engine is weak.”

“Look, I want it and you do not need it.”

“Why do you want it?”

“I have seven daughters and one son and he wants a motorbike.”

The man is either an idiot or crazy. If anything happens to his son it will be on my conscience and he’ll be after me.

“I’m sorry, it’s not for sale.”

The man was determined,

“I’ll come tomorrow,  say your price”

“Three hundred pounds” I said  inflating the price by a hundred pounds to get rid of him.

“Ok see you tomorrow.”

The man returned the next day.

“Did you bring 300 pounds?”

“No I brought only 220.”

“So there is no deal,” I said.

“That’s all I have.”

“Sorry the price is 300 pounds.”

“I really don’t have any more and it’ll cost you need just to dump it.”

“You are right,” I said after a pause   “here is the deal. The price is 300 pounds. However, I trust you. You are a man of his word. I’ll give you the bike for what money you have on you, and you’ll bring me the balance whenever you can. It is up to you.”

“What are you doing?” Whispered a neighbor who witnessed the dealing, “he’ll never come back with the money.”

“Rephrase” I whispered back, “he’ll never come back period.”


Dogs Talk


“Hi you’re smelling good.”

“Thanks’, not so bad yourself.”

“How come I didn’t smell you before?”

“We are on a different schedule; we usually walk in the mornings.”

“How’s your owner?  Is he good to you?”

“Oh, yes.  He’s ok.”

“Generally, I resent any man walking a dog.”

“Why so?”

“I sleep every night next to my woman in her bed.  One night, after she met a man with a bitch, she brought the man home without his bitch, and let him sleep in my place. If that were not enough, she locked me out in the kitchen balcony.

Not only was I insulted, I also could not stand the smell he left. My woman seemed to like it; she did not change the bedding for a week”.

“Oh I am sorry to hear it.  I hope she won’t do it again with my man.”

“Oh, don’t worry it will never happen.  I smelled his crotch. His is not the smell she likes.


The smoky Indian  


With the money Jack had saved, he bought a 1932 junked 700cc ‘Indian’ motorbike.  He was fifteen and a year away from his dream: a driver’s license. He fixed the bike and practiced driving on side roads and mountain trails. The day he turned sixteen, he obtained his license.  Still short of cash, Jack resourcefully modified his bike to run on kerosene. The smelly, noisy, smoke-engulfed bike came to be called Bob the smoky Indian.

One day, on his way from Tel-Aviv to Jerusalem, Jack was challenged by a slow bus.  Showing no consideration for Bob, Jack opened full throttle.  Before the surprised Bob could pick up speed, he spew a fireball through the carburetor. As Jack overtook the bus and turned an arrogant look upon it, he noticed the Indian’s normal cloud of smoke was significantly thicker and darker.

Jack felt the fire immediately under his seat. He first tried to increase the speed and for a short time the fire seemed to be under control,  But as jack  slowed down the fire got higher. To reduce speed further, without scorching, Jack climbed on the seat still holding the controls and thus jumped off the Indian with but slight bruises. Sitting on a stone jack watched the fire consuming the Indian.  Only after the fuel tank blew-up, he hitchhiked home.

Next Independence Day, Jack paid Bob a visit. He found, to his surprise and pleasure, Bob’s remains respectfully treated with a fresh coat of rust colored paint and decorated with a bouquet of flowers.  It had been placed beside the other rusting trucks and vehicles wrecks left as a permanent reminder of the War of Independence.  A placard nearby bore the legend:

“In memory of the heroes who liberated Jerusalem.”


The thermos


“What is it  you brought with you today, Johnny?”

“It is a thermos, Bennie I got it for my birthday.”

“A thermos? What is a thermos?”

“A thermos keeps the temperature of the things you put in. If you want,  in the winter it will keep the temperature of the coffee and in the summer the temperature of the soda.”

“Gee, Johnny, How can the thermos tell if it’s summer or winter?”

“It does not, Bennie, the thermos, just maintains the temperature of anything you put in it.”

“And what do you have in it now? Johnny?

“One cup of coffee for now Bennie, and a popsicle bar for lunch.”


One sentence story

Comfortably,  on a padded  rocking  chair, resting on a wooden  floor, in front of smoldering logs in the   fireplace at the end of the living room of  an elevated   log house, under a big tree, next to a murky  lake, at the foot of an active volcano, on a volcanic archipelagos, in the mid pacific ocean, between three  continents, on the northern hemisphere of planet earth  of our solar system, at the remote end of the milky  way galaxy, somewhere in the universe, a girl is sitting and  staring through the open window  trying to see through the dense fog.


The perfect husband


“Your friend George,” says my wife “is a person of ineffable qualities.

He is nice, peaceful, dedicated and loyal. He is always home for the children.

He shops for food, and cooks; he tucks the children in and reads them stories.

You should see how efficient he is with the house cleaning and the laundry.

He is definitely not a couch potato like you watching sports all day long. He is the perfect husband. ”

I did not say a word; I just looked at my wife’s face while thinking:

“With a perfect husband like George, at hand,  why does  Maggie,  his wife prefers me?”


To the author of the writing on the five dollars bill.


A five dollar bill, I got as a change, had a swastika posted on it and a very clear message.

“Hitler was right all the Jews and Israelis should be eliminated.

Killing  Jews is a command in the Koran .

This is my answer

Dear author, back in the seventies, I joined a rally demanding equal rights for the American minorities.  The anti-Semitic speeches given by the minority’s leaders there, emphasized my self- identity as a superior proud Jew.

Believe me, I felt excellent then and I feel great today.  Unfortunately, since then, nobody, except you, was kind enough to enhance that sensation of superiority.

Thank you also for reminding me of my Israeli identity.  A detail I tend to forget. I really appreciate that.

As a token of appreciation, I’ll share my views with you:

“September eleven was the best present the Arab terrorists gave to Israel. It is much easier now  for the world to learn who you are.”

A women who is treated for severe trauma is suing the airline and the airplane manufacturer  after she   got stuck on a toilet seat of the a 767 due to  ventilation differential pressure.

This is my suggested directive for future passengers

To all 767 operators

From Boeing Aircraft industries

Subject: Toilet seat occupancy.

Effective: immediately

Application:  All women intending to use the toilet must posses a straw.

The straw must be held between the women thighs through out the time that the toilet seat is occupied. The straw will insure a constant flow of air to equalize the pressure.

The straw may be removed only after the seat is cleared or during total loss of pressurization.


An unusual tool (janghes)


One day my neighbor showed me an unusual item.  It was made of forged iron that looked as if it was made by the neighborhood blacksmith, when he had nothing better to do.

With a little imagination, one would say, it was an anchor, and another would bet it was a  meat hook. It did not make any sense.

“Look” said my neighbor, “an old man, about fifty years ago gave it to me.  He didn’t know what it was, and he got it from his father.  I kept it because I was curious, in those years I wanted to find someone who knew what it was.  Take it, maybe you’ll find the answer.”

I was very happy with this unusual object and very much intrigued.  I kept showing it to my friends, and none of them could speculate what it was.

I had it in my possession for some years, until  one day, my mom who was eighty four years old came to visit. She came upon this “thing” and said “where the hell did you get it?”

“What is it mom?”  I asked much excited

“I still remember people using it when I was five years old, it was an important tool every household had.” My mom answered.

“O.k. mom” tell me about it

As you know, Jerusalem is a town without any natural water reservoirs.  Except some small water springs all the water needed where collected in the old days, from the winter rains into cisterns. In most cases the water cisterns were public, and each family came with her own bucket and rope to draw the needed water..

Buckets and the ropes at that time were expensive items and  people watched them carefully. The rope had a shorter life span than the bucket. It was chafing against the cistern lime stone opening, any time the water was drawn.  It even made grooves on the stone. Occasionally the worn rope gave up and the bucket fell into the cistern

This unique fishing tool you see in the picture was especially designed to rescue the bucket

It took from half an hour to a full day to retrieve a bucket.

This fishing device became obsolete after the first war, when manual pumps were imported and placed next to each cistern for the public use.

This free e-book is brought to you by

Ourboox is the world's simplest platform for creating and sharing amazing ebooks.

You too can become one of our 75,000 authors.

Join us now and start creating your own books right away.

Create your own free book


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