For our free reading sample, we chose Chapter 2 - Religion on the Cutting Edge.
This chapter sets the tone for the rest of the book, particularly the sarcasm. The main character is able to describe the first religious experience (the bris) that boys of the Jewish Faith must endure. But unlike most one-week-old infants, our protagonist, with eidetic memory, remembers every detail of his experiences.
To read this chapter please 
-Unknown
The one with the milk containers holds me tightly in her arms, as if afraid she might drop me. She rocks me in her arms; and between that and the gentle motion of the moving car, I’m lulled into a peaceful sleep.
A very tired little me is carried through a hallway. We stop as I hear metal jiggling and a big door being pushed open. They lay me down in this thing with wooden bars all around it. I just want to go back to sleep, and I do.
I am just beginning to see more than only light patterns, and can now make out some shapes. I’m conscious of one particular person who talks to me constantly. I’m pretty sure it’s the one with the strange tasting milk. She talks or hums to me whenever she comes near. I haven’t even a vague notion what she’s blathering about.
Occasionally others enter my room and examine me from behind the bars that surround my bassinet. I can make out the large shapes of several people who all talk at the same time. I have no idea what they’re saying. They make strange sounds at me. Someone with a deep voice approaches my little bed a few times a day, singing as he lifts me up.
They take turns diapering me. Some are far more adept at it than others. While cleaning up my smelly mess, someone sticks me in my little fanny with a thin, sharp object. I am not shy over my displeasure. Then I have an epiphany! If I need something, all I have to is scream like hell and they will come running. The wailing technique seems to work every time. I can make out that these objects all look gigantic compared to little me, but I sense that I’m running the show. Power! I really appreciate having it.
The milk lady doesn’t do the breast thing anymore. She must have become a little tit-shy after those first several episodes. That makes two of us. Something rubbery is stuck into my puckered mouth. It sort of feels a little like a Mommy breast, but I do not fool easily. I think I know a fake nipple when I suck one, but I’m convinced that the milk from this thing is a damn sight better than the original—with all due respect to the person with the tainted milk.
Today, the place is more crowded than usual. I feel almost like I’m back in the nursery with the wailers, again. I was just beginning to become accustomed to the privacy, the invasion of which doesn’t exactly please me. I express my displeasure with as much volume as my immature lungs can muster. This shakes everyone up, and they rush in to see what my problem is. Actually, I have very few problems. None of them take more than a few minutes to solve. Feed me; burp me; change me. That’s about it. I’m easy.
I admit to being a bit wary of the klutz who stuck me, wishing that the clumsy oaf would learn some diaperpin basics. I do not forget easily, and do hold a grudge.
Hey! Someone’s hand is down the front of my diaper and they’re probing for something. What they expect to find under there, I cannot imagine, any more than I could imagine anything else. Well, I had let out a scream, so they checked out the first logical possibility.
Now “Deep Voice” lifts me and hugs me gently. That very large hand (compared to mine) becomes a cushion for my head. I’m clutched tightly as I’m carried to another part of the room. I somehow sense nervousness all around me, and then it suddenly becomes deadly quiet. I am aware of a new presence in the space. I feel the cold coming off the body of this new arrival as it approaches me. There is a very low volume of muttering and whispering. Why do they bother to whisper? I don’t understand a damn word, anyway.
The cloth protecting my nether regions is removed. I can’t imagine why? I’m neither wet nor soiled. I’m totally confused. I hear noises reminding me of the day I first popped out of the tunnel—sort of like the clanking of metal objects. The smell is also familiar. Then there is a new odor—and more clanking, but different from before.
The strange man begins to chant, making sounds unlike anything I’d heard during my eight day stay in this new world. The voice is not exactly melodic. I peer through glassy, barely opened eyes in an attempt to make out the stranger’s shape, as its upper body moves back and forth. More chanting, louder chanting and then even stranger body movements ensue.
An aroma with which I have no familiarity becomes stronger and seems to move from where the chanter stands to where that diaper used to be. I feel my thing being rubbed with that smelly stuff. Then another aroma nears my face. They’re making me taste it? It’s awful, I think.
The singsong continues. There is not another sound in the room except for the guy with the weird body movements. Does this guy realize he might be disturbing others? He is certainly doing little for my tranquility.
“OWWWWW,” I scream, after a sharp pain in a very inconvenient place. I display my absolute abhorrence with an outburst that drowns out the singer. I violently kick my legs up and down, and wave my hands frantically in the air. The room fills with applause, laughter and loud mumbling, while an 8-day-old, who did not ask to be here, is filled with pain, not to mention embarrassment. These are some weird people. I wonder what other delights are in store for me next?
There is more laughter, then the pouring of some smelly beverage, and the clinking of glasses. But to my relief, there’s no more singing from the guy with the dancing head. I just want to sleep. My thumb enters my mouth. Pretending it’s a nipple, I suck on it while my forefinger makes circles around my tiny nose. My head feels heavy as I pass out.