Welcome to the Official Website of the Disjointed Jewish Communities of Creedmoor.
Dovid Schmoigerman is the Admou"r meCreedmoor, leader of an extremist anti-Zionist Chassidic communiity comprised of his own 150 quintillion multiple personalities, all registered for welfare, food stamps and other entitlement programs while residing in abandoned buildings located on the campus of the Creedmoor Psychiatric Hospital, as well as in Alcatraz and on the Former Planet Known as Pluto.
For the first time in almost 2000 years, you have a choice. You can cry and moan with the Tzioini reshoim, from Teaneck to Tosh, who wail over the destruction of a barbecue pit and the beginning of the end of the Tzioini dream.
Or, you can join us and
BURN BABY BURN
Yes, for the first time ever, starting tonight, the Admou"r and his many multiple personalities throughout the world will be inviting guests to assist them and join in the celebrations as they burn down landmark buildings for insurance. Why mourn the destruction of an old shul when you can sing and dance while watching the destruction of a building for which YOU hold a lucrative insurance policy and a forged title deed! Your name will be submitted on the title deed for a building of your choice, so that you will get special brochos from the Admou"r meCreedmoor as well as an almost guaranteed lifetime berth in Leavenworth or a similar yeshiva or kollel!
For more information, please call 1-888-TZU-DRAYT now! This is a once in a life sentence opportunity!
They went down to the welfare office To get a check And one tried to get more Because he was A shtick dreck
Der Admou"r fin Creedmoor That is his name Welfare fraud and scamming That is his game Two thousand years in prison he deserves!
Chorus: Con, con, the Admou"r's a con He gets enough welfare For a thousand men And then he has the chutzpah To apply again That ganif should sit for years and years! (repeat)
He burns down houses that he doesn't even own Forges signatures to get a low cost loan Signs up phantom patients for oxygen and chairs Sells the stuff at whatever the market will bear! And even launders money for Syria and Iran!
But we all love the Admou"r anyway From him we sometimes get a dollar a day We sign our names on papers That we can't read To get the Admou"r money That he doesn't need He's stolen enough for thirteen centuries!
Now everyone says that I have stolen this song And I'll tell you something, they really aren't wrong But my version is so silly That no one cares And all I made was a food stamp and a half!
Loosely based on Dschingis Khan, 1979 Eurovision entry by German band of the same name, and Yidden, Yidden, by Mordechai Ben David. I will split one euro-cent lengthwise and send it to each creator upon request.
Among the myriad dupes, shills, fellow travelers and phantom multiple personalities who reside in D-ward is a rather odd fellow who calls himself Rubin, in homage to the mediocre boxer and accomplished violent felon (sextuple murderer, according to some sources) Rubin "Hurricane" Carter. Since the Admou"r is so very enamored of felons, he summarily converted Rubin to Creedmoorer Chassidus, using an WMA to mp3 converter and a catalytic converter along with his standard 110 to 220 volt converter.
For some strange reason, the newly converted Rubin (now called Reivyn), whose name was duly submitted to all welfare offices, signed up for section 8 and disability, and forged on a number of title deeds used for dubious real estate flips, became very attached to the stars of the Creedmoor music industry.
Now, everyone knows that like much in Creedmoor, said stars do not exist. You must understand that the Admou"r takes in over one trillion Estonian forints in welfare cheques, food stamps, SSI, housing subsidies, Medicare and disability per annum. This is supplemented with over three trillion renminbi yuan worth of profits from insurance fraud, arson for hire, cheque kiting, bank fraud, wire fraud, consumer fraud and charity fraud.
And it is for the sake of charity fraud that the Admou"r invented a whole stable of musical entertainers, each of whom occasionally performs for one or more of the Admou"r's fundraisers. Of course, what really happens is that a couple of Creedmoor janitors are paid a couple of cigarettes each to bang pots, pans, drums and stolen auto parts in one of the old treatment rooms which the Admou"r has converted to a stage.
In the meantime, the Admou"r launders money by reassigning subsidy payments or insurance payments from one of his nonexistent personalities to one of these nonexistent performers.
And the king of all of these performers is of course Menivel ben Zimri, or MBZ. MBZ, who exists only in the Creedmoor parallel universe, has had almost a billion Slovenian lira transferred to his slush accounts at the Thirty Second Bank of Vanuatu. And one of MBZ's favorite acts is banging pots and pans to an obscure German Eurovision entry called "Yankel Kahn."
Of course, MBZ, who does not exist, found it very hard to credit the original band, which does exist. Instead, he goes on and on performing his version of the song "Der Admou"r'z a Con", at every pots and pans banging session for every new charity that the Admou"r dreams up.
In the meantime, a less popular act, Pay Tzaddik, is largely ignored, even though their works, such as "Flipped Out Across Boiling Schmaltz" are somewhat original.
But Rubin, you see, is an activist who stands up against every injustice on the planet Mars. So, he sits all day on the Internet, attacking the nonexistent Menivel ben Zimri, and claiming that eleven Moldovan welfare cheques must be transferred to the German band in exchange for use of the tune. As his therapists have reassigned him from basket weaving to Internet therapy, he has even started a blog, called Rubin-Has-No-Life, in which he sounds off like a broken record regarding theft and copying by MBZ. Of course, he cares little that two other multiple personalities are recording MBZ concerts and selling the albums for 100 counterfeit EBT cards a piece!
Needless to say, MBZ and his fan club, consisting of the usual suspects, including Napoleon and George Washington as well as the Admou"r and all of his suborned psychiatrists, psychologists, psychotics, and psychobabblers, are not fazed by Rubin's criticism. So, Rubin goes on and on in his padded cell, tilting at windmills, while all around him, real fraud on a huge scale goes on and on.