I love and admire Persian Jews. It sickens me to hear regular Jews disparage them. I think Persian Jews are amazing. Many of them came to America at, say, age 15, and then graduated Beverly Hills High School at 18, got undergraduate and graduate degrees at places like USC and UCLA, went to work in prestigious jobs, living with family until marriage. They blow my mind. I just love their culture, their rugs, their love of education, family values and traditional unspoiled mores. They’re not as jaded as Americans, and their women are more chaste.
I had a beautiful young married Persian Jewish therapist. She wasn’t religious, didn’t even know what a “Bet Din” was, but she wouldn’t let me talk about sex in therapy because it made her giggle and she lost control.
I love talking to Persian girls. I always make them laugh. I’ve never been able to date one. It kills me. I like my women a little bit dark, Persian or Asian or Sephardi or Ashkenazi with long black hair, preferably curly, and I like them Orthodox and chaste and shy and demure. I love to shock and awe them.
When I arrived at UCLA in 1988, I had the same type of admiration for the Asian immigrants I met. I was on the Quiet Floor at Rieber Hall and it was filled with Asians. Many of them escaped from Vietnam on rafts and now they were creating good lives. They studied hard. They honored their parents. They were hard-working, diligent, polite, cheerful. My roommate was Vietnamese. There were these beautiful Korean Christians on my floor. They were handsome, happy, hard-working, polite. I was dying to despoil them. They were such a refreshing contrast to the drug-taking spoiled Americans around me.