by Ladies
As well as being creative at murder, he also had a very big and hurtful mouth. He used it to make the Jews look bad. When Goliath stood on the hilltop near the Hebrew camp and called out to them mockingly— calling them Jewburgers, Jewlips, Jewy Jewballs and other anti-Semitic foods—the Jews pretended not to care. But they did care. Still, they figured it was better to endure insults than broken bones.
Goliath stood outside the camp for hours, acting like the life of the party—cracking jokes about how circumcised penises were like shrimpy mushrooms, better for making broth than satisfying the lust of a Jewess.
“I once dated a lady Jew,” riffed the Philistine giant. “And after having screwed her just so, she sang me one of her postcoital Jew melodies—a plaintive tune about the teeny-balled male of her species. A Jew makes love as though trepidatiously dipping his toe into cold bathwater, while a Philistine makes love as though hungrily eating watermelon after having screwed a Jewess.”
When he was done performing, he would issue his challenge. It was always the same: send over your best warrior so I can fight him one-on-one. In this way, Goliath wanted to make his battles into a kind of performance—a chance to pause and deliver zingers while issuing a Jew his licks.
“By this method,” said Goliath, “we might observe how a Jew fights as though he is gingerly dabbing underdone yolk off his chin, while a Philistine fights as though he is hungrily eating honeydew after having burned down a kosher butcher shop.”
Whenever Goliath made his threats, everyone pretended they couldn’t hear him. They made like they were too caught up sharpening something or trying to scrub an impossible stain off their battle kilt. It helped them get through the day.
There was on this particular occasion a young Hebrew in attendance named David. David was a shepherd who had shown up to bring his older brothers lunch. He watched the kibitzing giant whoop it up and hated the demoralizing effect it was having on the Hebrew army; but even more than that, he hated Goliath’s comedic material. He thought “Jews fight like this/Philistines fight like that” to be one of the lowest forms of comedy—only outdone by inventing cute names for pitching Jews from trees. David was offended by Goliath’s threats and violence, but he was even more offended by Goliath’s threats and violence to comedy.
Maybe he wasn’t as big and tough as Goliath, but David knew for certain that he was funnier. He had to be. Out of his seven brothers, he was not the wisest, nor was he the handsomest, the strongest, kindest, smartest, or even the cleanest. Comedy was what you got when all the really good qualities were already taken. And so, David knew that, by default, he had to be funny. What else was there left him?
David was the guy who placed inflated camel bladders on chairs for family members to unwittingly sit on—the guy who once set a mulberry bush on fire and hid behind it, pretending he was the voice of God.
“Repent,” he intoned to those who passed, “also hop on one foot and make duck sounds.”
While Goliath got his laughs by putting people down and murdering them in complicated, flashy ways, David had a different take on what comedy could be. He believed you could achieve a humorous effect by killing someone simply, too. The time was right, he believed, for a honed-down, deadpan kind of murder/comedy. He believed a simple stone-to-the-head killing could be a comedic statement as well as a political one—a challenge to the decadent pageantry of Philistine giant murder.
And so David decided that with a mere stone he would slay Goliath. Clean and economical. And funny— laugh-out-loud funny.
He was sure that if it was done right—if his timing was just so—killing Goliath could be a highly original goof. A little schmegeggy. A big schlub. The little one kills the big one. Bonk. Death. That’s comedy.
The manner in which I kill Goliath will cause the whole world to laugh, thought David. Even God Himself will laugh.
David wanted to please the Lord, and he believed a hardy chuckle would do Him good.
David’s love of laughter began when he was a child and he had tickled an older girl on the stomach until she had peed. At the time it had felt like a magic trick, like he had figured something out. He felt like the first person to have ever milked a goat—the shock! And the sound of her laughter—like something cracking inside her, bubbling up, coming to the top—no words, just something from the depths. It was a miracle. He remembered how everything became speeded up but the pee was very slow, the way it spread like a butterfly on the ground beneath her.
So making a joke was like tickling a girl but with invisible pinkies, which made it even better—more magical. And there could always be pee, too. It was always possible. When he slayed Goliath there could be women watching and these women could laugh. Some might laugh loudly, others quietly, and there might be a woman there who would pee. Just a few drops. But then also maybe a lot. Maybe there would be a beautiful woman there who would transform herself into a fountain to honor the wit of his murder. They might all pee as Goliath died. As he killed him and he died.
Of course it was not impossible that Goliath might kill him, but David did not want to think about that. He did not want to think of Goliath wrapping a vine of grapes around his penis when he was dead and pulling him around like a toy—because that was the kind of funny guy that Goliath was. David would be dead and as his soul was flying up to Heaven it would have to look down and see a thing like that. What a last thing to see! But he was not going to think about that. A slayer of giants had to be pure of intent when he did his slaying. Even a mite of doubt could foul the whole thing.
* * *
David lay in bed at night and planned it all out.
“Maybe if I strike him right in mid-insult—just after the words ‘and furthermore . . .’—or pop him just as he’s gulping from his goblet so the stone can bounce off his head and plop into his wine! If the Lord, in His infinite kindness, might grant Goliath’s dropping dead to be preceded by a plopping sound, I will have achieved a comedy of the highest order!”
David wondered what it was going to be like to be the greatest hero who ever lived. He wondered if it would give him sad eyes. He had once seen a hero who had them. With sad eyes, women would see him and think, “What sad eyes,” and then they would know that even though he kept up a brave and comical front, killing giants was not all fun, that it left a person with a certain unasked-for gravitas, that it forced you to know things that no one else could ever know and these things left you sadder. But also sexier.
When he is a funny, sad, sexy great hero they will bring him women. Sometimes two at a time. He will invite them into his chambers and sit on the edge of his bed while sipping wine. They will listen while seated cross-legged on the floor as he tells funny tales with reserved sadness and sad tales with impossible mirth.
* * *
David finally worked up the nerve to tell his brothers how he wanted to battle the giant. He did not tell them about the other stuff—with the laughing women and the eyes—but still, they were unsupportive.
“David,” they said, “if you do this idiotic thing we will no longer be your brothers. You can kiss all that good-bye.”
But David was fixated. He could only think of the laughter that awaited him.
For forty days Goliath stood on the hilltop and issued challenges.
“Send out your best man to fight me. If he wins, the Philistines shall be your slaves. We shall press your olives, pick your Jewberries, and listen attentively to your boring stories about God. But this will not happen. What will happen is this: I will kill your man and munch his toes like pecans. And with that little snack I will be making a broader gesture: eating the toes of all Jews everywhere—and by toes I mean spirit—but also toes. Can you see what I am getting at?”
They could see what he was getting at, and really imagine it, too: Goliath delicately twisting their toes off one at a time with index finger and thumb, popping them into his mouth—saving the pinkie toe for last.
To ease their spirits, the Jewish soldiers returne
d to one of their favorite subjects—the dream match: Samson versus Goliath.
“Are you kidding me? It would have been a bloodbath,” they said, getting all worked up and forgetting their troubles. “Samson would have used Goliath’s size against him. He’d have climbed him like a beanpole and ripped his head off with his bare hands.”
On this particular day David had again shown up with food for his brothers. It was an excuse to get in on the action.
“How can you let Goliath talk that way about the army of the Hebrew god?” David asked his brothers.
“You’re being loud,” they said. “He might hear you!”
David kept stirring it up, talking about how the Jews were number one and shouldn’t be taking that kind of flak. Eventually, David’s mouthing off got back to King Saul, who sent for him.
When David stood before the king, he told him how he wanted to battle Goliath and the king gave him his trademark sideways smirk. The smirk meant many, often contradictory, things. In this case it meant, “The kid’s got style,” and so, believing himself to be all for style, King Saul offered David his shield and armor to use in battle with the giant.
“I don’t need that stuff,” said David. “I have God on my side.” In truth, David was afraid the armor would make him look more imposing than he needed to be, and thus ruin the comedic staging of the whole little guy–big guy routine.
David produced his sling. It was just a leather strap.
“This is all I need,” said David. “This and God.”
“Tell you what,” King Saul said, having a good time. “You kill this gigantic showboating asshole and I’ll take good care of you.”
Having killed Goliath so many times in his mind, it already felt like a done deal. David had been living in the future, but now he was setting out into the past to preserve the present and ensure the chuckle-filled future to come—with all the rewards a king could bestow. David did this sort of half strut out the door, swinging the sling around like a pocket watch.
Some kid, thought the king.
David approached Goliath. How stupid, he thought, to be so big. It was asinine. Imbecilic.
As the giant cavorted about, David pulled out a satchel and poured its contents onto the ground. It was vomit. As the necessary technology to produce fake vomit had not yet been invented, bringing along a bag of the real stuff was the best David could do. He thought if he could just trick Goliath into looking at it and squealing in girlish horror, it would be a good, humorous start to the battle. David kept looking down at it, even pointing—anything to make the giant notice— but it was no use. Goliath was already on a tear, playing to the audience.
“This is who you send to do battle with me?” asked Goliath. “After I have murdered him, shall I change his diapers? You Jews slay me. It’s like I was telling the Jewess cheese monger I was tenderizing yesterday evening, ‘The army of King Saul is a sickly, honey cake– footed army whom you can always hear coming due to the mealy-nosed sniffling of their sinusitis.’ But this little fellow is too much! He looks like something that has dribbled into a Philistine’s chamber pot! Does he come with a side order of corn nibblets?”
Goliath laughed while slapping his shield carrier on the back, causing the old fellow’s shoulder to become dislodged. Looking at it all from up close, David saw that the laughter Goliath caused was not real laughter at all. Goliath was a bully who produced nervous laughter. Terrified laughter. David wanted to cause laughter that made the soul brighten.
“I will feed your body to the birds and dogs,” needled Goliath, interrupting David’s thoughts.
“I will feed your body to the birds and dogs,” bantered David. He then looked over at the Hebrew army to see if they were laughing at his rejoinder, but they just stared at their feet.
“I will feed your body to the birds and dogs,” Goliath asserted, this time underlining the word “your” with such force that David could smell his deadly breath from across the battle plain.
“You win,” quipped David, “but you still might want to chew on a mint leaf.”
“I shall chew on your still-beating heart,” parried Goliath.
“Do you kiss your brothers with that mouth?” asked David.
“Enough playing the dozens,” growled the giant. “Now we fight.”
David carefully placed a stone into the sling and swung it around. The two or three times he had practiced with the sling he had seen that whenever he twirled it, he could not help swirling his hips in a highly provocative manner, and so he tried to keep his belly dancing under control. He did not want to be handing Goliath material on a silver platter. Finally releasing, the plum-sized rock sailed through the air and hit the giant square in the center of his forehead. Goliath fell backward onto the ground. A few soldiers looked up from their feet, but they did not laugh. They seemed glad—glad and nervous—but they didn’t actually laugh. No one did.
What’s going on? thought David. Soon the laughs will start.
But there were no laughs. Not a snicker, a stifled snort or even a “Man, that’s funny.” Nothing. And right away, David knew that he had erred. His timing had somehow been off—not exquisite enough. Perhaps he had been overzealous in his delivery of the stone. Perhaps slings and stones just weren’t funny. Maybe he should have tricked the giant into walking off a cliff, or running at top speed into a temple wall. Why would he have thought that a little pisher killing a giant with a sling would be a powerful joke to make God laugh? How could he have gotten such an ignorant idea into his head? If he had only just slapped him over the head with a scourge handle!
When the Hebrew army saw that Goliath was really dead, they let out a cheer.
“Little David has destroyed the giant,” they cried.
They knew David’s feat was important, possibly even a miracle, but they did not laugh. David was nauseous.
“Go on and cut Goliath’s head off,” his brothers shouted, for that was the custom back then when one slaughtered a giant. But David’s heart wasn’t in it.
There will be no more jest-making, he thought. No more wine bibbery or hay making.
He just wanted to go home.
I will never trust another thing that comes from my head or heart, he thought. From now on I listen only to God. And with this vow, he set himself to the sloppy job of beheading the giant with halfhearted chops.
Once the head was severed, David hefted it up in his arms and, with great awkwardness, cradled it to his chest. It was almost as large as his entire upper torso. He positioned the face so that the eyes, still wide open, appeared to be looking up at him. It was in that moment, as he stared into Goliath’s eyes, that David was seized with a divine thought. A divine comedic thought. Placing his fingers on the dead giant’s lips, he moved them up and down.
“Hello,” David said, lowering his voice several octaves. “I am Goliath’s head. Has anyone seen my hands for I wish to scratch my ass. For that matter, has anyone seen my ass?”
A joker must joke, David surmised. He looked up into the crowd and out of the stunned silence, he thought he heard a giggle. David looked back down at Goliath’s head and went on with the show.
Part II: Bathsheba
As promised, King Saul rewarded David for his bravery. He was to give David his daughter Michal’s hand in marriage.
“But first,” said the king, “you must bring me the foreskins of one hundred Philistines.”
“What does a person need with one hundred foreskins?” asked David.
“Let me worry about that,” answered the king.
“Because it’s not the most romantic way to start a marriage.”
The truth was that Saul had devised the impossible foreskin quest as a way of killing off the brave young Jew. After his performance with Goliath, David had become very popular among the people and Saul was jealous.
Just the same, David, now a full-on war machine fueled by the Lord, killed two hundred Philistines and brought King Saul their foreskins. Saul received the drip
ping, stinking bag with his trademark smirk; but this time it was turned downward, as though he were being held upside down by the ankles.
More than he wanted Michal’s hand in marriage, more than he wanted riches or fame, David yearned to make people laugh.
“Here’s a joke,” he announced. “A Canaanite, a Hittite, and an Amorite walk into a temple. The Canaanite, being a Canaanite, possesses a polluted soul and being in a house of worship causes him to fall to the ground and die. The Hittite, being a Hittite and having a proclivity for baring false witness, accuses the Amorite of murder. The Amorite thus slays the Hittite. He then says a prayer for both men. Years later the Amorite does not remember either of the men’s names.”
For David, laughter was the one big holy—that which awakened the soul to the divine and the true and in this case, what was divine and true was that Amorites had poor memories and Canaanites were the scum of the Earth. To be reminded of this was to slap one’s knee with good cheer.
After his whole performance with Goliath, David was no longer content to be funny through violence. There was nothing wrong with a little physical comedy— the whole little guy–big guy routine was a classic, but it was also pretty unreliable. David now wanted to be funny with words and, when the situation presented itself, ventriloquism.
The only problem was that now that he was a military leader, he just never seemed to have the right opportunities for making mirth.
On his wedding night David told Michal a joke.
