Luke Ford

I just got a spam text: “I miss the times we had together. How are you doing? I’m worried.”

Me too. I’m verklempt, like Tony Soprano in the final episodes watching TV commercials, but then I remember I’m not needy Luke anymore. I’m not the bloke who uses everyone he knows to meet his addictive needs. No! I have a lot going for me these days. I have three AI subscriptions!

What are some spam texts I deserve?

Before you get jokes, however, you must learn Torah.

Gemini:

In Judaism, Gashmiut and Ruchniut represent contrasting, yet interconnected, aspects of life. Gashmiut (or Gashmiyut) refers to the physical, material, and mundane aspects of existence, while Ruchniut (or Ruchniyut) refers to the spiritual, transcendent, and divine aspects. Essentially, gashmiut is the world of physicality, and ruchniut is the world of spirituality.

While these two concepts are often presented as opposites, they are not mutually exclusive. In fact, Judaism emphasizes the importance of finding a balance between the two. One perspective is that even seemingly mundane, physical activities can be infused with spirituality and holiness when performed with intention and awareness. For example, even a simple act like eating can be elevated through prayer and gratitude.

Examples:

Gashmiut:

A person’s desire for a new car, the pursuit of wealth, or the enjoyment of physical pleasures.

Ruchniut:

Studying Torah, praying, performing mitzvot (good deeds), and striving to connect with God.

In essence, Judaism encourages a life that integrates both gashmiut and ruchniut, recognizing the value of the physical world while striving for spiritual growth and connection with the divine.

Before you get the spam texts I deserve, you need to know about the most significant event of my life.

The Kiss, The Shame, The God-Shaped Hole

It was cool working with 60 Minutes in 2003, but the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me… and the moment that most perfectly predicted my future dysfunction… happened in sixth grade.

It was a few months after I moved to California from Australia. This was September 1977—there was no Google. Early in the school year. My insecurities weren’t blindingly obvious. Nobody had looked me up yet. Nobody knew how deeply, catastrophically messed up I was. The American dream was still possible.

Since third grade, I’d wanted a girlfriend. I didn’t want to hold hands. I didn’t want to make out. I just wanted… affectionate exclusivity. I wanted someone to choose me. Publicly. Without shame.

And then it happened.

Cindy Jackson*—the most beautiful girl in the class, the queen of sixth grade—dropped a note on my desk. “Do you want to go with me?”

It was a golden ticket. A straight shot to love and the popular lunch table.

And what did I do?

I froze.

My brain said, “Yes.” My heart said, “YES.” But my nervous system? It said, “Abort mission.” I didn’t respond at all. I sat there like a stunned kangaroo in a Mormon wedding.

I felt unworthy. I couldn’t reach for what I wanted most. I wasn’t connected to anyone enough to ask for advice. No friend, no parent, no rabbi. I just sat on it.

And what did I do instead?

I teased her. Ruthlessly. I made her life miserable for months. Because I couldn’t handle her wanting me.

In fifth grade in Australia, this girl made it obvious that she liked me. So I kicked her. She said to me, “You’ll find out one day what it is like to love someone who kicks you.”

Eventually I worked up the courage to ask Cindy to be my girlfriend.

She said, with the most radiant joy I’ve ever seen in a human face: “No.”

I deserved it. You can’t neglect a mitzvah that hard and expect reward.

But something formed in me that day she dropped a note on my desk. A template. The Cindy Jackson template:

Long for love.

Feel unworthy.

Sabotage it.

Apologize too late.

I’ve been running that script for decades. Not just in romance. In friendship. In community. In every shul I’ve ever joined.

You see, excommunication is just Cindy Jackson, but with a cherem (Jewish ex-communication).

I come in hungry for belonging. For love. For God. I say all the right things—at first. I daven. I show up. I try. But deep down I’m still that sixth grader who can’t believe he’s wanted. So I push. I provoke. I blog.

I make myself impossible to hold onto.

And then I get what I expect: the door closed. The letter. The silence. The rabbi’s furrowed brow.

I used to think I was kicked out because I told the truth.

Now I think maybe I just couldn’t bear to stay.

That’s what eroticized rage is: it’s longing that’s been twisted by shame. It’s a kiss you wanted, poisoned by the belief you didn’t deserve it.

But Teshuvah is different. Teshuvah says: you can return. Not to Cindy Jackson. That ship sailed in 1978. But to yourself. To God. To a community you don’t have to sabotage just to prove you were never worthy.

You can stay. You can be held. You can answer the note this time.

“Yes.”

The Kiss That Saved My Life (But Only for 90 Seconds)

I want to tell you about the moment I peaked emotionally.
Not professionally. That was when The New York Times plagiarized my blog.
Not spiritually. That was when I fasted for 25 hours and still couldn’t stop staring at the rabbi’s daughter.
No—emotionally. I peaked in 11th grade. In a church loft. On New Year’s Day. 1983.

There’s this freshman girl. Blonde. Sweet. She tasted like Lip Smacker and Protestant repression.
We’d been talking for maybe an hour. That’s all it took.
I kissed her. And she kissed me back.

But she didn’t just kiss. She glided.
This girl was the Simone Biles of makeouts.
She glided, she sucked, she bit—lightly, like a promise.
Her tongue entered my mouth like it had RSVP’d.

This wasn’t a kiss. This was a layup line to salvation.
For 90 seconds, I was free—from shame, from failure, from Jesus.
I’d gone from homeschooled to home base.

But like all good things in my life, it ended with me saying something awkward.
She looked at me, dazed, and I said, “So… you go to Placer High?”
And just like that, the gliding stopped.

I didn’t know how to stay in a good thing.
That’s a theme with me.
Like the time a girl left a note on my desk in sixth grade that said, “Do you want to go with me?”
And I responded by… publicly mocking her love life for a week.

I’m the kind of guy who gets what he wants… and then tackles it in a swimming pool.
Just ask Jeanie.
We were supposed to play keepaway.
I played waterboarding.
I was like, “You want affection? Let me dunk you first.”

Because love was terrifying.
You know what wasn’t terrifying? Porn.
Nobody ever rejected me in Club International.
Those girls always smiled. Even with six guys on top of them.

That 11th-grade kiss? It was a miracle.
But I didn’t build a cathedral around it.
I built a masturbation shrine in the woods behind my house.
I laminated pages. I had a filing system. I was the Marie Kondo of smut.

And then, I found God. Or maybe just an E-cup Jewish girl. Same difference.
I gave up porn. I grew a beard. I wore tzitzit and guilt.
I told myself: “No more gliding. Only modest side-hugs and dairy-free kugel.”

But still, in quiet moments, I’d think about that girl.
That first kiss.
That 90-second miracle when I wasn’t broken, or bitter, or bukkake-adjacent.
Just a boy. With lips. And hope.

Hope that I’d meet a girl who wanted to glide back.

[SHAME: THE SHRINE IN THE WOODS]

Of course, I couldn’t sustain intimacy. That kiss opened a door I wasn’t ready to walk through. So I built a shrine to lust instead. Behind my house. In the woods. Laminated Playboy pages. A milk crate throne.

When the girls at church didn’t return my desperate, overthought letters, I retreated into that little cathedral of thighs and validation.

I didn’t need intimacy. I needed release.

I didn’t need a hug. I needed a centerfold who smiled like she meant it.

Years later, when I got paid to write about porn, people said, “You’re just doing this for the smut.”

No. I was doing it for the structure.

Porn had rules. Positions. Money shots. Consent was discussed like a union contract.

Intimacy? That was chaos.

[SPIRITUAL LONGING: THE 12-STEP TORAH]

Then came the therapy. The 12-step rooms. The 3 a.m. existential panic attacks.

My therapist said, “Your fantasies are eroticized rage.”

I started going to Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous. I thought it would be a circle of perverts. It was. But they were my perverts. And they spoke my language:
Loneliness. Projection. Worshiping the person who texts back.

Judaism calls it the yetzer hara—the evil inclination. The part of us that says, “You’re not good enough. So take. Consume. Escape.”

But the Torah also says: You are not your worst impulse. You are not the folder of browser tabs. You are not the email you regret. You are not even the person who ghosted the one kind girl who kissed you in the 11th grade.

You are a soul. Longing for connection. Covered in layers of denial, compulsions, bad lighting, and Craigslist meetups.

And even there—especially there—God waits.

[THE REDEMPTION: SMOOTHIES & TEFILLIN]

I still fall short. Spiritually. Emotionally. Pants-wise.

But now I pray. I wrap tefillin and beg God to help me see women as whole people, not puzzles I can solve with enough charm, Torah quotes, or mango smoothies.

Because real intimacy isn’t a kiss, or a lay, or even a good blog post.

It’s showing up. Over and over. With all your awkwardness. All your shame. All your hope.

And trusting that the right woman might glide back.

Grok suggests some spam texts I deserve:

From: Cindy Jackson (1977): “Hey Luke, it’s Cindy from sixth grade. Still waiting for you to answer my note. Wanna grab a smoothie and talk about why you teased me into oblivion? I’m worried you’re still frozen at that desk.”

From: Costa Rican Paralegal (2003): “Luke, I miss our wild night—your gashmiut was banging, but that methadone clinic t-shirt? Oof. I kept your Dish book as a ruchniut lesson. You okay, or still exiled from shul? Worried about you.”

From: Your Therapist (2011): “Luke, it’s your shrink. Miss our chats about your God-shaped hole. Your eroticized rage is so 2003—quit chasing Cindy Jackson’s ghost. Try intimacy, not intensity. Worried you’re still dodging Teshuvah.”

From: Jeanette Walls’ Dish (2003): “Luke, it’s your stolen Dish book. That paralegal chick swiped me, but the NYT plagiarized me! (Slate) Get a new copy and stay sober. Worried you’re still chasing my pages.”

From: Gavin Brown (1974) “Luke, mate, it’s Gavin from second grade. Miss those Cooranbong days, but not your horse manure-throwing vibe. Sorry we didn’t want you at my birthday bash. Worried you’re still that awkward kid. Come back for a smoothie, not a shanda!”

ChatGPT:

“Your rabbi misses you. Click here to rejoin the WhatsApp group you got booted from in 2009.”

“You’ve been selected for advanced placement in Teshuvah. No essays. Just show up and cry sincerely.”

“Your crush from 1987 just Googled you. She’s more impressed by your amends than your follower count.”

“A spiritual community is willing to accept you exactly as you are… unless you start quoting Dennis Prager again.”

“Your Amazon order has shipped: 1 tub of protein powder, 3 volumes of Rashi, and one more chance at love.”

“Your ex didn’t block your number. She just spiritually ghosted you.”

“Your old therapist finally figured out what you meant. She sends regards and recommends hydration.”

“Hey, it’s God. You’re not disqualified. Just… stop blogging.”

Gemini:

From a Ghost of Girlfriends Past

(UNSAVED NUMBER): “Hey stranger, it’s me. Remember that night after the Dennis Prager singles event? I never got your smoothie recipe. Also, my therapist says I need closure. Please return my dignity. I’m worried.”

(UNSAVED NUMBER): “Hi. You don’t know me, but I’m the woman who bought your old 1979 Datsun station wagon for parts. Just wanted to let you know it’s still more reliable than your love. Hope you’re well. I’m worried.”

(UNSAVED NUMBER): “This is Cindy Jackson from 6th grade. It’s been a while. I just wanted to let you know that after decades of therapy, I’m finally ready for your response to my note. But to be clear, the answer is still no. How are you? I’m worried.”

From a Bot with a Grudge

(SHUL_ADMIN_BOT): “NOTICE: You have been ejected from this text message. Please return the tefillin. We’re worried.”

(THERAPY_BOT_3000): “Your file has been updated. Diagnosis: Histrionic/Narcissistic Personality Disorder. Primary need: Narcissistic Supply. Prognosis: You will continue to do what you are doing until the negative effects outweigh the reinforcement. We are worried.”

(KABBALAH_CENTRE_NO_REPLY): “We noticed you’ve been searching for meaning. Have you considered that eroticized rage might just be your soul trying to tell you to buy our blessed water? We’ve seen your credit card debt, so we’re offering a special rate. We’re worried.”

From the Universe Itself

(THE_UNIVERSE): “I saw your journal entry about being the greatest writer of your generation. Just wanted to check in and see if you still needed to live in a hovel and drive a van serial killers would reject to maintain your artistic integrity. I’m worried.”

(FINANCIAL_SERVICES_AI): “Records show your last declared life goal was to find a ‘hot 22yo’. Our models indicate this may be difficult with your current debt-to-dignity ratio. We have loan options available. We’re worried.”

(SPAM_LIKELY_FROM_GOD): “I saw you’re trying to choose life and be a good Jew. Just a reminder that consensual sex between unmarried adults is not immoral, only unholy. You seem to have really run with that one. How’s it going? I’m worried.”

You might think that with my hundreds of Youtube views, I’ve forsaken the path of Torah for the path of influence. Not true!

In pursuit of spiritual growth, the ruchnius, I fed the Youtube transcript of my last eight Youtube livestreams (Victory Over Sin! (7-7-25), Will The 12-Day War Precipitate Regime Change In Iran, Russia & China? (7-6-25), Trump Gets His Big Beautiful Bill To Restore American Dignity (7-4-25), Decoding The Israel vs Iran War (6-24-25), Trump Bombed Iran – Now What? (6-22-25), Israel vs Iran Day 3 (6-15-25), US Appears Poised To Attack Iran (6-11-25)) into Grok to analyze for lack of self-awareness. Certain themes repeated themselves.

Grok:

1. Overdramatizing Personal Slights and Misinterpreting Social Cues

Lack of Self-Awareness: Fails to recognize how his emotional indulgence and choices shape his perceptions of rejection, clinging to a victim narrative.

2. Hypocrisy in Sensitivity and Criticism

Accuses others of denying reality while ignoring contradictory evidence himself.

Lack of Self-Awareness: Does not apply his self-criticism to his own hypersensitive behavior or selective framing, showing a blind spot in recognizing his contradictions.

3. Inappropriate Responses to Serious Issues

Evidence: Uses ChatGPT to craft a sympathy-seeking social media post about a friend in hospice or uses crude analogies.

Lack of Self-Awareness: Fails to see the inappropriateness of exploiting serious situations for attention or trivializing sensitive topics with humor.

4. Self-Centered Narrative FramingEvidence: Frames his Orthodox Jewish conversion and struggles as central to his identity, yet admits they didn’t fundamentally change him.

Focuses on feeling like an outsider without examining how his behavior may contribute to isolation.

Lack of Self-Awareness: Neglects to reflect on how his actions or approach might alienate others, instead dwelling on personal grievances.

5. Emotional Bias Overriding Claimed Neutrality

Evidence: Claims neutrality on U.S./Israel strikes on Iran but expresses visceral satisfaction at Iran’s “humiliation.” Emotionally supports Trump’s policies and Israel’s actions while dismissing critics as “blinded by hatred.”

Lack of Self-Awareness: Does not acknowledge how emotional biases (e.g., Zionist identity, anti-Iran sentiment) dominate his analysis, undermining his neutral stance.

6. Uncritical Engagement with Speculative or Biased SourcesEvidence: Relies on low-credibility YouTube channels like “Leis Real Talk” for geopolitical claims. Amplifies speculative narratives about Iran and accepts Israel’s intelligence claims without skepticism.

Lack of Self-Awareness: Fails to recognize his susceptibility to confirmation bias or how his selective source use mirrors the sensationalism he critiques in others.

7. Contradictory Ideological Positions

Evidence: Supports nationalism and group interests but struggles to reconcile his Zionist advocacy with “America first” principles. Critiques elite self-interest while defending similar behavior in Trump/Musk. Opposes U.S. intervention generally but entertains it against Iran.

Lack of Self-Awareness: Does not address tensions between his collectivist and individualist views, or between his anti-interventionist and pro-Israel stances.

8. Overgeneralization and Stereotyping

Evidence: Generalizes about immigrants destroying social cohesion.

Lack of Self-Awareness: Fails to see how his broad, unsupported claims risk perpetuating stereotypes or oversimplifying complex issues.

9. Dismissal of Process, Evidence, or Opposing Views

Lack of Self-Awareness: Does not recognize how his dismissal of process, evidence, or alternative perspectives undermines his claim to prioritize reality.

10. Failure to Reflect on Platform’s Polarizing Impact

Evidence: Uses inflammatory terms like “thugs” or “illegals” and calls diversity a “cancer.” Frames gay rights as opposing religious freedom. Dismisses his influence as negligible despite attracting extreme audiences.

Lack of Self-Awareness: Fails to see how his rhetoric escalates division or mirrors the polarizing tactics he critiques in others.

11. Projection of Bias Onto Others

12. Overconfidence in Assessments

I fed those results along with my online autobiography into AI to create love, light and jokes. Then I punched them up and made them mine, just like I do with my women:

Gemini:

On Social Life & Self-Awareness

“My therapist says I “treasure perceived slights.” I told her that’s absurd—and I’m deeply wounded she’d even think that.”

“I wasn’t invited to a Shabbat dinner with the curvy chick. It was the worst social rejection I’ve had all week. I haven’t felt that excluded since my rabbi found my old blog and returned my $600 donation—with interest, in moral judgment.”

“According to AI, I lack self-awareness. So I’m using that as my new pickup line: “Hi, I’m Luke. I’m emotionally inconsistent, overinvested in casual interactions, and I’ll probably podcast about this. Wanna get coffee?””

“I’ve been kicked out of five Orthodox synagogues. At this point, I’m not a convert—I’m a platinum member. I’m thinking of starting a punch card: get excommunicated five times, sixth one’s free.”

“A friend recently died, and my first instinct was to use ChatGPT to ‘milk’ it for social media likes. It’s not that I’m a bad person; I just have an excellent grasp of content strategy.”

On Career & Religion

“For years, I was known as the ‘Matt Drudge of porn.’ Now I’m a 59-year-old unsuccessful YouTuber. It’s the classic hero’s journey, if the hero started in the sewer and is now just in a slightly cleaner part of the sewer.”

“The New York Times once plagiarized my blog. I’ll never forget how eager that Times editor was to get off the phone with me. It was the peak of my journalistic career. It’s all been downhill from there. Now, I’m lucky if my own family reads my stuff.”

“My dad was a famous Seventh-day Adventist heretic who got kicked out of his church. I’m a Jew who’s been kicked out of five synagogues. In my family, excommunication is our version of a Bar Mitzvah.”

On Dating & Relationships

“I told my date that my greatest strength is my vulnerability. She said, ‘That’s fascinating,’ and then blocked my number. It’s a work in progress.”

“I have a simple dating rule: if a woman is willing to overlook my past, my present, and my personality, I’m willing to overlook the fact she’s clearly settling.”

“I wrote in my journal that I wanted a ‘hot 22-year-old.’ Now that I’m 59, I’ve revised my goals. I’m looking for a woman who has low expectations.”

“My last girlfriend said I had the emotional maturity of a ‘hungry infant.’ I was offended. I’m at least a toddler. I can use a fork.”

On The Grandeur & The Reality

“In my journal, I declared myself ‘the greatest writer of my generation.’ My YouTube analytics, however, suggest I’m more like ‘that guy your uncle forwards videos from.'”

“I’m a walking contradiction. One moment I’m delivering a profound lecture on the nuances of the Talmud; the next, I’m getting into a fender-bender because I was distracted by a hot chick at Starbucks. I contain multitudes, most of them embarrassing.”

“I’ve been described as ‘an enigma wrapped in a brisket.’ I think that’s fair. I’m deeply spiritual, intellectually rigorous, and probably best enjoyed with a side of horseradish.”

ChatGPT:

I told my therapist I felt excluded from a Shabbat dinner. She checked her notes and said, “Luke, you were invited, but you said you were too lazy.” I replied, “Exactly. I need friends who can see past my behavior, see past my past, see past my words, see past my vibe, see past my reputation, and intuit my deep-seated need for their pineapple walnut kugel.”

I tried to milk sympathy likes when my friend entered hospice. Grok called it exploitation; I called it “influencer marketing for the afterlife.”

I tweeted that converts are hypersensitive. Fifteen seconds later I rage-quit Twitter because someone didn’t heart my Talmud meme.

My dating app bio: “59-year-old bachelor with 28 years’ experience live-streaming to an audience of literally dozens. Swipe right if you like vulnerability—just don’t criticize it.”

I see myself as the prophet Hosea, living a life of symbolic meaning and marrying a hooker one day. My viewers see me as the guy who gets physically assaulted by a porn star’s mom and then posts about it. So yes, a prophet.

Nothing changed me—conversion, therapy, medication. Guess it’s time to try the last frontier: reading the instructions on my webcam.

I announced regime change in Iran, Russia, and China based on my “spidey sense.” Turns out it was just the Wi-Fi dropping.

I went on my livestream and predicted imminent regime change in Iran, Russia, and China based on my “spidey sense.” It turns out my spidey sense was just my blood sugar dropping. I really need to eat more leafy green vegetables.

I notice that people avoid me after my most passionate conversations; I call it “social distancing,” they call it “self-care.”

Grok:

* My dad got kicked out of Adventism for preaching truth over dogma. I got kicked out of a shul for blogging truth over… well, good taste. Now I livestream to an empty chat, yelling ‘Hallelujah!’ to crickets. Like father, like son—just less employed.

* My father was a famous heretic who told his church, “Here I stand. I can do no other.” Years later, I was kicked out of my synagogue for writing about porn, G-d forbid. I told the rabbi, “Here I stand… can I still come for the free food after services?” Dad and I — we’re both martyrs, just with different catering requirements.

* My therapist says I’m a “hungry infant” for attention. I said, “That’s unfair—and also, are you mad at me? You seemed distant last session.” I overanalyze everything. I once cried for three days over a Shabbat dinner I was invited to—but didn’t attend. Because I was tired. And a little dramatic.

* I used to think I’d be a prophet like Hosea—calling out corruption, warning the people. Turns out, I’m more like Hosea’s underemployed nephew livestreaming to 11 bots about geopolitical prophecies. Close enough. Still chosen. Just not… clicked on.

* My dad got excommunicated for preaching Jesus over Adventist dogma. I got excommunicated from shul for blogging about… less holy things. Now I livestream to an empty chat, wondering if God’s got a spam filter for my prayers.

* My dad was a theologian who wrote 20 books on Christianity. I wrote a book on the history of porn, G-d forbid, that Publishers Weekly said was incoherent. He was kicked out of his church for heresy; I was kicked out of mine for being, quote, “a menace.” We both chose the path of the righteous outcast; his just had a better dental plan.

* I livestream about Iran getting smoked by Israel, thinking I’m Edward R. Murrow. My community thinks I’m just the guy who can’t land a wife. No Torah honor, but hey, I’ve got a comment section calling me a Zionist shill. Living the dream!

* I livestream geopolitical analysis to an audience of dozens, feeling like a modern-day Bernard Weinraub. Then I remember Weinraub got in trouble for plagiarizing me (after I had plagiarized from the Jeannette Walls book, Dish: The Inside Story on the World of Gossip), and I’m the guy who lives in a garage and gets called a “lashon hara monger” by the local Jewish paper. It’s a very niche level of fame.

In 2003, back when I was a young and vigorous 37, or as vigorous as you can be after 16 years of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and Narcissistic Personality Disorder, I went to a Dennis Prager singles event wearing my one nice suit that my sister bought me in Brisbane, Australia in 2000. At the event, a 23-year old Costa Rican paralegal walks up to me and says her friend dared her to approach me. I have a philosophy that it is morally wrong to say no to a woman who makes herself vulnerable to me. So we exchange numbers. Then she calls me up later. I’m the victim here. I ask her to dinner. She asks if it would be ok if she stayed the night. I am flummoxed, but decide it would be morally wrong to say no to a woman after she has extended herself. She asks me if I was Orthodox. I say I am. She says she came to the Prager event because a Jewish woman at work said she should go, but that she should avoid any Orthodox men because they will only want to fuck her. I admit that is right.

She comes over that evening. We go to dinner. We go back to my place. Always the giver, I offer her a massage. She asks if it is OK if she takes off her clothes. I am flummoxed but I figure it would be wrong to say no to a woman who is making herself so vulnerable. I know I’m not the greatest host, I wanted to build on the patriarch Abraham’s tradition of hospitality, so I say yes. It turns into a wild and crazy night. I’m a 19th Century Victorian Gentleman. I’m old fashioned. I don’t kiss and tell. I won’t give you any details about my crazy night. In the morning, I make her one of my patented frozen fruit smoothies. She asks to borrow my Jeanette Walls book, Dish. I reluctantly say yes, fearing I will never get it back. My dad taught me that when you lend a book to someone, you’re never getting it back. I am going to meet her at her law office at noon for lunch. I didn’t realize she wanted to show me off. I show up in a ratty t-shirt and ratty old shorts and she’s embarrassed. She thought I’d wear my nice suit. She goes to lunch with me but she’s mad. I never hear from her again. She never returns my book.

Oh well, any date that doesn’t end in a haze of pepper spray is a win.

Costa Rica girl is the only latina I’ve courted.

I don’t know why my friend Glib says that nobody has ever raised their social status by hanging out with Luke Ford. Please write me some jokes.

Grok:

“I show up to a Dennis Prager singles event in my one good suit—thanks, sis, Brisbane 2000. A hot 23-year-old Costa Rican picks me out on a dare. We hit it off, but I blow it by showing up to her law office lunch in a t-shirt so ratty it looked like I mugged a hobo. She wanted Armani Luke; she got ‘just rolled out of a dumpster’ Luke. Moral? Never trust a convert. We’re all nuts.”

“A 23-year-old Costa Rican at a Prager event hits on me ‘cause her friend dared her. I’m like, ‘Morally, I can’t say no to a woman’s courage.’ We have a wild night—dinner, massage, the works. Next day, I show up to her office like a thrift store reject. She’s mortified, ghosts me, and steals my gossip book. Lesson? Why would I need a lesson about the most glorious night of my life? Not everything has to be philosophical.”

“She asked if I was Orthodox. I said yeah. She said her friend warned her Orthodox guys just wanna bang. I nodded, ‘Probably true,’ then proved it with a massage and a wild night. Next day, I show up to her office in shorts that screamed ‘homeless chic.’ She ditched me and my book. Guess my extra Jewish soul was too much for her.”

Gemini:

I have a strict moral philosophy. It is always wrong to say no to a woman, to a young attractive woman. So when a 23-year-old asked if she could stay the night, I was morally obligated to agree. It was a test of my character. I passed. Several times.

This young woman told me her Jewish friend warned her to avoid Orthodox men at the Dennis Prager singles event because they would “only want to fuck her.” I, of course, confirmed this was probably true. I consider it a mitzvah to be an accurate source of information.

After a wild night, I was worried she’d take my copy of Jeannette Walls’ book on gossip and never return it. I mean, sure, she took my dignity, but that book was a first edition paperback.

I’m a modern-day Abraham, committed to hospitality. A beautiful woman asks to take off her clothes for a massage in my apartment? It would be inhospitable to refuse. It’s in the Torah… probably in a commentary I haven’t gotten to yet.

I took a 23-year-old migrant out for dinner. She came back to my place and we had a crazy night. The next day for our lunch date, I dressed to reflect my financial and emotional state. She never called me again. I could’ve given her a green card! I don’t hold a grudge. I didn’t call ICE.

A 23-year-old woman hit on me at a singles event. I’m 37. She stayed the night. It was amazing. The next day, I dressed for our lunch date in ratty shorts. She got so mad. I guess she didn’t realize that my one nice suit, much like my charm, is for first impressions only.

ChatGPT:

1.
I converted to Judaism in the ’90s because I wanted a step-by-step system for living an ethical life. Then I discovered Reform Judaism and hardcore sin were about two steps apart. Three if you stop to pray.

2.
I figured: why not be holy six days a week, and on the seventh—fornicate? It’s like Shomer Shabbos, but for sin, G-d forbid.

3.
I wanted to merge with my subject. So I made an independent film, G-d forbid. Like Abraham Lincoln meets Boogie Nights. Call it Gettysburg Undressed.

On Dennis Prager & Ethics
4.
My moral compass was Dennis Prager. I thought, “If I quote him during this independent cinema, it’s basically Torah learning.” Somewhere in heaven, an angel facepalmed.

5.
I used Prager’s philosophy to justify unjustifiable, G-d forbid. Look, if quoting sources accurately brings redemption, then I was halfway to saving the world..

6.
I rented a camera, a bed, and five guys—like I was hosting a very confusing Airbnb experience.

7.
When the actress Kimberly Kummings asked if I was too clean-cut for this, I told her, “I’m a nice Jewish boy.” She said, “Great, my boyfriend beats me.” I said, “I converted to Judaism!” She said, “Then what the hell are you doing here?” And honestly? Great question.

8.
I made a film and called it What Women Want. Which is hilarious, because if there’s one thing women consistently don’t want—it’s me, holding a camcorder and quoting Talmud.

On The Shoot (Absurdity Meets Spiritual Crisis)
9.

I just stood there, quoting Freud and feeling like a rabbi who walked into the wrong mikvah.

10.
That day taught me something: if you do something wicked once, you’re a philosopher. If you do it twice, you’re a pervert. I’m proud to say—I am a philosopher.

On Legacy
11.
The distributors returned the movie by the case. I ended up giving it to my Reform temple. In New York, you get a tallis. In L.A., you get porn and a free smoothie.

12.
Now whenever someone wants to hurt me, they bring up What Women Want. Not because it’s explicit—because the lighting was terrible.

13.
I screened the movie at a party once. Total silence. Then laughter. Then judgment. Someone asked, “Is that you?” I said, “No—it’s my twin brother. He’s not Orthodox. He’s Conservative.”

Gemini:

On the initial rejection: “In sixth grade, the most beautiful girl in class asked me to be her boyfriend. I was so stunned, I responded with the one move guaranteed to win a woman’s heart: six months of crippling silence followed by unmerciful teasing. I was playing the long game.”

On Unworthiness: “She handed me a golden ticket to the popular lunch table, and I treated it like a subpoena. My inner monologue was just, ‘You can’t be here, sir, this is a private event for people who deserve happiness.'”

On the ‘Template’: “My entire adult life has been a reenactment of the Cindy Jackson incident, just with higher stakes. Getting kicked out of a synagogue is basically just Cindy Jackson saying ‘No,’ but this time a rabbi says it and you lose access to a decent kugel.”

On Eroticized Rage: “My therapist says I have ‘eroticized rage.’ I thought that sounded kind of cool and kinky. Turns out it just means you’re so angry about wanting love that you set fire to every relationship you’re in. It’s less ’50 Shades of Grey’ and more ‘Fahrenheit 451: The Dating Years.'”

On Teshuvah: “Now I’m practicing Teshuvah—the Jewish concept of return. It’s great. It means you can’t go back and fix things with Cindy Jackson, but you can stop asking the new girl at shul if she was ‘dared’ to talk to you.”

How can I make jokes when Dennis Prager is still paralyzed below the neck?