I walked into the party like I was walking into a scene.
(I was only there for journalistic reasons, not to party, hence I was not violating Judaism’s laws against partying during the three weeks of mourning leading up to Tisha B’Av.)
I held up my two cans of caffeine-free Diet Coke and yelled, "Who’s ready to party? I brought the Diet Coke. Best to cut it with water."
I left after an hour so I could return to my Torah studies.
The next day, I asked a host of the party what was the most inappropriate thing said or done last night. She replied it was when I put my arm around her and said, "Tell Uncle Levi where it hurts."
Who’s your rebbe now, bitch? Show me where it hurts.
