About Sex After 90



   I'm glad you're reading this description. It means you're intrigued with the possibility of sex after 90. If so, you're one sick puppy and just the demographic I'm after! My guess is you'll also like the alternate, and equally meaningless title I considered: Yasser Arafat's Little Book Of Grooming.
     Frankly, I don't give gopher's groin if a 90 year old man has sex or not, even if it were possible without handfuls of blue pills. But the real story in this book does, in fact, involve a dirty old man—well, he's old as of this writing. Twenty-five years ago he was in his late 40's. The sleaze I'm referring to is Killer Klugman, or Scambo, as he was affectionately known by his friends. To borrow from an old saying, Killer would steal flies from a blind spider. 
     As you read this remarkable tome, you'll notice a few spots where Killer refers to his Jewish upbringing. He was born and remained Jewish, and rebuffed any and all attempts gentiles made to convert him. In Killer's words, "There's no way I could buy into Christianity, especially after hearing how it got started—Mary and the virgin birth and all. What's that all about? Christianity got started because a Jewish woman wouldn't put out? Since when is that a miracle? I can't remember the last time my wife and I had sex. If she were in a hospital laying on a gurney, I couldn't identify the body."
     This book was originally descriptively titled Jew Behind Lox but it got little traction. And not because it wasn't funny. If you must know, I tried buying classified ads in print newspapers to promote the book, but no one would take my order. One New York daily said the title sounded anti-Semitic. Really? Anyway, I didn't argue. I then retitled it The Crucifixion Of Rumpled Foreskin, even though that title doesn't allude to Killer Klugman, the book's main character. Rumpled Foreskin refers to another major character, Gordy Goldstein, who is Killer's shyster lawyer. Before he was a lawyer, Gordy was a mohel, or one who circumcises baby Jewish boys. His disheveled appearance while performing circumcisions earned him the name Rumpled Foreskin. Gordy was the stereotypical shyster lawyer. But he didn't have to be. In fact, as a litigator he wasn't half bad. He once successfully defended a gynecologist who lost his medical license after becoming deaf. Gordy convinced the medical board to reinstate the doctor's license after he proved his client could read lips.
     The meat of the book is about Isadore “Killer” Klugman, a fellow Jew and acquaintance who, for most of his adult life, was an honest businessman who wholesaled women’s apparel to stores. He had a wife, a daughter, and a mortgage in a nice suburban area, but took a wrong turn along the way and wound up in jail after unsuccessfully paying to have a drug dealer killed. This book was inspired by a series of letters Killer sent from jail, to me and his other so-called "friends." Most of the letters were a desperate plea for money and mailed to my chiropractic office in Arlington Heights, Illinois, a city twenty miles northwest of Chicago.
Even from prison, Killer tried to pull off the most outrageous scams by enlisting Gordy, as you now know as his crooked lawyer. In fact, both Killer and Gordy tried to get me involved in their car accident and credit card schemes. But with my guard up and my wits challenged, I made it my duty to provoke Killer with smart-ass replies to his letters while at the same time protecting myself from his wrath and the wrath of Gordy, who was equally fun to irritate, hence the old title The Crucifixion Of Rumpled Foreskin. To borrow a line from The Godfather “I kept my honor.” But it wasn’t easy, especially with the FBI breathing down my neck and Killer’s hit man in hot pursuit.