by Alex Linder
A reader forwards the inaugural issue, Winter 2002, of this quarterly celebration of the hepkike: "Heeb," it's -- "The New Jew Review." Not to like, what's?
Most everything. Not since Krema II, This time it's poysonal, have so many unappetizing yids been crammed into such a small space. The only difference is that "Heeb" hebes actually exist! These have to be undoctored photos; at least they made me sick.
What do you think when you think 'hebe'? I think of physical repulsiveness and pseudo-intellectual pushiness: an asymmetrical sex-pert, a lewd comedienne, an nosey nathan nattering about Trotsky. When I think 'hebe,' I think Sandra Bernhard -- loathsome, fragile, pretentious, aggressive, accusatory, arrogant, hyperemotional and above all ugly. Ugly, this Jewish race: Bernhard its flower.
The race has perfected sluttiness sans allure. Not easy, that. No buoyant, frothing, joyful sexuality, just brittle, sterile, exoskeleton of innuendo that disintegrates when you touch it. Jew "sex" is about as satisfying to humans as a beetle's wingshell to a hungry lizard. Jew-tv "sex" is false, forced, anti-fecund for all its dripping drool. Jews understand sex less than any other race on the planet. The idea of turning to a Freud or Mailer to "understand" sex -- well, nobody who read The Naked and the Dead or a description of the Oedipal theory would turn to these guys for help. The normal reaction would be laughter. A certain hate-filled lechery exudes from the kike mind like viscous grease from certain lower invertebrates, nothing more. Jews do dirty sex wrong, and they can't do clean at all.
Think of the boyishly off-putting Ben Stein, interviewing Gene Simmons for his Comedy Central talk show, and practically getting off the seat and shaking him to find out how many girls he slept with. That's hebe - a "conservative intellectual" yid wearing tennis shoes with a suit, digging for sex dirt. What a kike. What a yid. What a hebe. Scratch a jew, find something always digging in your wallet or washroom all thick-lipt and golub-eyed. Hebes evince this peepishness to a degree far beyond any other race. Whatever the opposite of grace, beauty and smoothness is, the insult 'hebe' sums it.
What's a "heeb"?
A member of an ugly, paranoid-aggressive, crying-accusatory tribe of gnomish nickel-biters.
What characterizes the hebe?
Explicitness masquerading as depth.
Cynical motive-spotting presented as cutting-edge intellectualism.
Pop-eyed paranoia in the name of "sensitivity."
Whatever is ugly, hypocritical and often as not corrupt -- that's "heeb."...
The photos in mag are to die for, literally.
Let's test this 68-page rag's retch strength, opening at random and seeing how copiously we vomit.
p.42: Is there anything more disgusting than an open-mouthed beanie wearing, shimmying kike, lower abdomen thrust out, pulverizing wood on the dance floor? No. Oh wait. How 'bout the thing next to him, swirling in a dress, eyes shut, huge mouth open like a Hasid sow about to distwat its twelth pup? Yes, that would qualify.
They hebes. We rue.
And of course we can't help but view the facing page where we find the one hebe you knew had to be in there somewhere, probably in the back pages, yes, guess, you know, the old fagerast, the sod's sod, the poetastress herself, Allen Ginsberg, master of the tantrumic rumptameter. All Jewry deserves to be tied together and knocked in a pool for passing this kid-licking poof off on kids as a poet. Pre-ecstasy bone-stoner geeked on Blake, Kali and tiny fungi he used to ingest after lovingly shepherding their nurturance in piles of his lover's dung. There's scarcely an honors English class in the land, I dare say, where this pederast perpetrator of prosodomy isn't (ass)igned and (stud)ied.
Title: "Holy Soul." Subtitle: "I was fifteen when I met Allen Ginsberg at my cousin Isaac's bar Mitzvah. Years later, he would ask if I had thought he was hitting on me that night." And yes, that's what it's about. Some punk writing about sleeping with Ginsberg, despite their fifty-year age difference and homogenous sexuality.
What's echt heebish? There's your answer. A hack fag poet and the power to plant him on playlists nationwide.
We flip over to 28, catch a spread on some disgusting broad now playing Berlin as "Peaches." She's an elementary teacher from Toronto who moved to Berlin and "reinvented" herself as some kind of obscene, talent-free singer. She raps out clevernesses like "Fuck the pain away," and, "There's only one Peach with a hole in the middle." Typical Jew dreck presented as admirable, desirable, cutting edge. The pictures show the disgusting creature you'd expect. She pretty much sums herself up in this clip:
Heeb: Do you consider yourself shocking?
Peaches: I heard somebody at the Coney Island show who was like, "Fucking karaoke. Give us a guitar or cowbell or something!"
Ever notice how jews are always 're'-ing?: remaking, redoing, reimagining, recreating, reinventing? Those who can, do. Those who can't, redo. If their product was any good, Jews wouldn't have to rewrap it all the time. Why does 'you can't polish a turd' always come to mind whenever the hebes rev up the 're's?
Peaches is exhibit A when I say Jews are complete flops at dirty sex. They can't get the essence of anything but calculating to the sub-penny. Genuine Jewish creative genius is found in swindling, and nowhere else. Jews can mimic and map onto things, but they can't capture essence.
Disgusting sexual crap is a large part of the Jewish soul. It's everywhere in Heeb. Besides Peaches there's an article about Jewlets running a youth-radio show, also in Germany. There's also an article about homosexual Orthodox, featuring that classic kike photo we ran in Letters one time: the one with six or seven traditionally outfitted kikes surrounding the camera, grinning crookedly in anticipation of their next swindle. It's pretty clear that pushing the boundaries IS normal life to the kike. If there wasn't anything to get synthetically angry about, or any new mark to swindle, the average kike wouldn't have any reason to get up in the morning. A truly awful, ugly, disgusting, destructive race of swindlers and syntactless "fixers," it's. Really: just run down the article index for the premier issue, what the hebes think will sell: grafitti, smut radio, jewfros, peaches, nasty old man, fag-orthos, fag-poet catamite memoir, Vieques -- of everything personally disgusting and politically destructive compact, it's. Nothing good comes out of a Jew. No Jews. Just Right.
We open to an exceptionally unprepossessing B&W shot of a withered old man who looks like Mike Royco with K-mart frames, blotchy arthritic sausagefingers and a super-sized nose, which is displacing at least as much as he's slurping up of whatever disgusting liquid fizzes pollutedly in the bottom of his paper cup, which is not to disparage the possibility he's actually shlooking the stuff direct through his honker like a superannuated Pet pachyderm. Ecce icky heebay. In all its natural splendor. You can almost hear him bitching about Social Security and $2 off on his early-bird special. He's not quite as bad as Jerry Stiller, quite possibly the most viscerally repellant allegedly human creature ever emptied on celluloid.
We can almost whiff-stril the stranch of this hyperglobulated old coozer's gefilte-fish breath as he wheezes out chortles over the latest witticism of the clinically dead Special Olympian yumorist Artless Buchwald, yet depriving some young kike of cryspace at the Post.
Kikes! They never disappoint...
I swear on the Holy Talmud and blessed m_mory of Saint Baruch of the Submachine Gun I had not read the following when making prior statements:
Heeb: How do you like living here?
Bierenbaum: Brighton Beach is not bad. Other places you cannot even walk out, but here I can walk at night. The problem is, I'm an old man now, and I'm perspiring. I've gone to many doctors and I want you to know, the Torah tells you that even the best of the doctors will go to hell. I saw now that they are all crooks. I told one that if I would be a squealer, I could get 25,000 dollars and he would lose his license.
Heeb: So what's the issue with your perspiration?
Bierenbaum: They don't know what it is! I need so many undershirts every day!...
Ya can't make stuff like this up, folks. Kike tartar, it's!
Facing the old man (what they call a badkhin, or wedding jester, or, in modern jew-promoted raphop parlance, a freestyling old-school yiddish MC) -- is a jew pimp. An 'Alfonz' -- "pimp; Yiddish, derived from the proper name "Alphonse," a possible ancestor of Heidi Fleiss. Usage: "Ver hot dir gezogt az du kenst trogn azelkhene kleyder in shul? Du zest oys vi an alfonz!" (Translation: "Who told you you could wear those clothes to synagogue? You look like a pimp!")
Depicted is an alfonz in the back of a limo, looking oso jewpimplimokool, Call me Rubbernus Pumpernickel Who Saw the Best Minds of his generation lose themselves in others men's rectums. In other words, echt cheesy topping material.
The next pages cry out for suicide bombers too. They're all about Jewfros. Jews have some sort of fixation with their own little twist on the Affenkultur they've pushed on us. In a way curiously parallel to that of the slick VJs employed on Murray Rothstein's "country" music channel CMT, Heeb's Jew writers and editors continually stud their discourse with 'down' negrisms where English would serve a man. By extension, aptatis aptandis, hairstyles too. Here's a hebe who looks like Ron Jeremy. Here's one who looks like a Jenny Grey beat to panting with the Jew stick. Here's one who looks like a Semitically seasoned Fred Savage. Big shylock shocks of unshy locks, about six pages worth. Feature, it's! Classic quote from young faggy jewtype with über-girlish superthick jewfro onto his shoulders, Fran Leibowitz style, and a look in his sweetygirl eyes to where you can smell the "social justice" bullshit about to vomit forth like a tipped jar of marxomeal. The faggy little pacificst-socialist troublemaker, tikkuning as fast as he can, always against your interests, always on your dime. Wearing a shirt with shaking hands, beneath the rubric "solidarity forever." Are you getting the picture? Says hebe:
My boss, the deputy director of the Parks Department, gave me barrettes to put in my hair. She had these little rainbow barrettes in her hair and I complimented her on them and she was like, "I'll bring some in for you." And sure enough, the next day she brought in a little bag of barrettes. So I put them on and started wearing them around the office. That's the cool thing about it, you become kind of a magnet for weird situations. It's a kind of spatial thing where you're extending beyond the boundaries of your personal space. Your hair is out in public space and you become public property in a weird way.
That's hebe in a nutshell: grow an afro, doll it up all tweety-sweety, think up a ridiculous "social" justification for it. Imagine you are on the uncutting edge. The personal is political. Or the person-hole, as the fags say.
And it wouldn't be a hebe mag without a big scoop of paranoid rubbish. This we find in some clown named Tim Sommer's article about Pizza Hut's "twisted crust" as some kind of Nazi plot. Am I kidding? No, I'm not kidding. The story has a big graphic of a pizza imposed on a swastika. See, swastika is hakenkreuz -- twisted cross -- in German, and that's similar to 'twisted crust,' ergo twisted crust pizza is a nazi plot. You have to be jewish to think like that. Any other race, you'd assume it was weak satire, with jews you can be sure it's real. That's why the race is pernicious and can't get along with any other. It's not going too far to say that this article is a microscosm of why the race has been kicked out of every country it's ever settled in. It discriminates against Whites in employment, promotions, civil service and "hate" crimes; it smears the heck out of Whites in its tv and papers and other media -- but if you name a pizza wrong, you're violating jewish civil rights! Jews have absolutely no concept in their culture of giving the other guy any rights or room. It's all them, all the time, in alles. That's why the only true definition of "anti-Semite" is non-Jew. Jews: we can't live with 'em -- but we sure can shoot 'em.
Sommer praises the pizza as an example of assimilated ethnic food with this telling trope: "Certainly no foodstuff associated with the Jewish Diaspora can claim to have driven this kind of stake into the heartland..." Like the heartland's a vampire? Of course that's what he means. Ever see rural Americans depicted as normal in a Hollywood movie?
And the story comes complete with Irving slur. I scoured this twice for the slightest sign of satire, but -- hell, you tell me:
Anyone who's been through a half a year of Hebrew school, half a chapter of William Shirer, or half an hour of the History Channel knows that the common German word for the Swastika is Hakenkreuz -- literally, Twisted Cross. Even if the association in English may be just a tad obscure, every German speaker between Basel and Berlin knows that the Twisted Cross and the Swastika are one and the same. In any event, you don't have to be a Brown semiotics major with a trust fund, Asian model girlfriend and a million-and-a-half dollar loft on Broome Street to make the aural connection between Twisted Crust and Twisted Cross. Now, why would a fast food chain blithely name one of their signature products after an internationally familiar symbol of hatred, terror, and despotism? Until Marie Callender's introduces a Pol Pot Pie, or Cinnabon start marketing a Hot Flaming Cross Bun, we have to recognize this as a signal moment in cultural insensitivity and insult. ...the aural evocation is too damn close to be merely coincidental. Perhaps it's just a perverse marketer or an ad man bent on softening America for the acceptance of Holocaust deniers.
I'd like to think that's satire, but, knowing Jews, I don't. He also writes, SC of the TC:
But I have never seen a "breadstick" like this outside of a Peter Greenway film. In actuality, this intimidating and obscene object is at best "crust-like," (one could say that Twisted Crust is to crust what Holocaust revisionist David Irving is to historian -- but more on that later.
By attaching a lovable and appetizing association to a symbol of terror, we are simultaneously reminded of the omnipresence of that terror, we are simultaneously reminded of the omnipresence of that terror while being told that it might taste good if it was in our living rooms right now. Twisted Crust = twisted cross = chew and tasty little swastika = the bad ol' days weren't really that bad. David Irving would be proud.
Again, I'd like to think that's just insipid satire, but it's not.
So that about wraps it up for Heeb editorial: smut sex, radical politics. What are the prospects for this latest addition to the newsstand?
Heeb, the product...
Here's what the editors think of themselves and their number:
Heeb is the roiling product of so many drunken postmillennial nights on the mean streets of the Lower East Side. It is an ambitious antitrust investigation into the monopoly on God. It is a sweaty prizefight between hip-hop and sushi in this corner and klezmer and kugel in the other. It is the bastard love child of Emma Goldman and Lenny Bruce. It is a plague on modern day pharaohs replete with miraculous jailbreaks and a nice little riot or two. It is a Carnival cruise to the Garden of Eden with all-you-can-eat cheesecake and Parliament as
the house band. Hallelujah.
Heeb is a print magazine, on real paper with real ink. You can scour this site until the messiah comes, but you will find absolutely no online content, so stop whining, suck it up, and subscribe. Or look for Heeb at Barnes and Noble, Tower Books, Borders Books, Indigo Books in Canada, Hudson and Universal Newsstands in NYC, and the finest independent bookstores and magazine racks across the land.
Distribution is no problem, clearly. And there's money in this thing. The layout is decent, the colors are all there; somebody's putting money into it. If you like shots like this sephardic queen, the mag for you, it's. I'll pass. I'll pass on this zaftig damsel too. Don't miss the submissions comments after safely stowing your ground-sickness bag.
There are two major problems that will probably drive this mag under. The first is the lack of ads. There are 68 expensively illustrated pages, and only 5.5 worth of ads. That's not much. And the ones that are there are for Jewish stuff. The inside covers are taken by Forward and Joshua Venture, which bills itself as a "fellowship for Jewish social entrepreneurs," which sounds more than vaguely ominous. The other ads are for indie labels and mishmash crap. The back cover is either a house ad or an Olde English ad, or both. It shows a party girl double clutching a 40, five rings on nine visible fingers, "Heeb" painted on index nail.
The funding for the mag, as you can read in this article, comes from Steven Spielberg, ultimately -- filtered through Joshua Venture specifically to editor Jennifer Bleyer, a twentysomething freelancer. A Bronfman has also put up money for this magazine about "cool" Jews.
Using her $60,000 grant, Ms. Bleyer thinks she can publish at least one issue of Heeb. The idea is to publish it quarterly after that, but for that to happen, the magazine will have to raise more money. Ms. Bleyer said the goal was to raise $300,000. In the meantime, about 10 people -- mostly other folks in their 20's -- have signed on to the Heeb editorial board. No one's getting paid for now, not even Ms. Bleyer.
I would guess she used up almost all that 60k on this issue. Seventy full-color pages don't come cheap. But the priceyness and lack of ads could be overcome, in time, if the content were there. What doesn't differentiate her magazine from the rest of the rack is Heeb's fatal problem.
For all its pretension, Heeb's pushing the same swill we're served in every other media mess hall. There's not a page in this magazine that couldn't appear in or hasn't already appeared in the Washington Post or New York Times. Heeb's just selling the style section of your local daily. Here's what I mean: We also want to be the magazine that gives big props to Monica and Chandra," Ms. Bleyer said. "Like, Jewish sluts of the world, unite! A Jew's idea of cool always involves odd politics and odd sex, accented with de rigueuer negrisms like 'props.' But sex isn't that interesting, and Jews aren't sexy. And their politics is only and always the ridiculous leading to the murderous. Here's the kikess editor, her magazine, her worldview -- her race -- in a nutshell: "Really, the name is just brilliant branding," Ms. Bleyer said confidently. Like "Holocaust" and "Chosen." It's all in the re-packaging, imagines the Jew.
The editors position and promote themselves as something new and different when in fact they're offering the same-old, same-old. That they can't even raise a single "big" consumer ad for their premier issue tells me it's a hard row in print publications these days.
Not that the Jewish industry par excellence hasn't done its bit to spread the word. A Google search reveals articles about Heeb already mouldering in the files of virtually every name publication across the fruity plain. Here Ironminds (interesting article about guy's experience with his similarly themed Wop startup in the mid-nineties), for example. Articles have also appeared in Washington Times, LA Times, USA Today, New York Observer, etc. Probably most of the big-city papers in the country have at least mentioned the publication. Interesting article here from Washington City Paper.
The ADL doesn't like the name of the publication. Maybe that helps explain the advertising problems.
In short and in sum, Heeb is hebetudinous. I could pull a better print mag out of my ass. Maybe I oughta write Warren Buffett and see if he'll pony. Heeb is yet more proof that Jews have more money than talent, and that Jew-"culture" is stagnant, repetitive, stoopid and parochial as hell, while White Culture is brimming with ideas, energy and promise. Yeah verily, we are fecund with a thousand innovations while the miserable kikes are bankrupt and barren. Heeb's on the way out. The future belongs to Whites who will fight.