Ultimate Dreidel Fighting Rules by Jen Spyra

First off, you didn’t choose this life. This life chose you. You’re not here because you want this. You’re here because you need this. You’re here because there’s an itch under your skin that only gets scratched from the 25th day of Kislev to the second day of Tevet and it’s four-twenty-three p.m. on the 25th day of Kislev and you know precisely what the fuck that means. Fives minutes ’til sundown. When we’ll welcome the mistress Chanukah and play dreidel so hard we slide in our own blood.

Anyone who knows me as Shoshanna Goldfarb will now refer to me as “Pit Master.”

Listen closely. You want to dance with the four-sided devil, you play my way. We throw down San-Juan style. That’s no holds barred, raw-dog jungle justice. If that gets your dick hard, you’re in the right goddamn place. If it sounds like a little more than you bargained for, then drop some change in the Tsedaka box on your way out — because once I bar the door, you’re in my world. And you’re either down to pound or you can get the fuck out of my Chanukah party.

Anything goes on the floor. Blades, chains, bottles. If it carves, it’s parve. We beast out wild-brawl style. I’m talking no limits. Sprawl and brawls, lay and prays, can openers, anaconda chokes, fish hooks, pipe cleaners, robot curtsies. The only rule is to kick your opponent’s ass so far into 5776 they don’t see Sh’vat go by.

Your roll determines your weapon. “Gimmel" gets you a full-on payday. Knives, clubs, exceptionally sharp pieces of brittle. You can even grab the menorah if you can reach it. I’m not gonna lie. Gimmel’s a lucky-ass roll. But it won’t do shit for if you don’t bring the moves.

“Nun” gets you jack dick, so be ready to tango fast and loose with the twin glocks Hashem gave you: your hands. But don’t forget your elbows, skull and teeth. With nun you either get scrappy fast or you get your ass handed to you through your mouth.

“Hey” gets you a small handful of chocolate gelt and I’m happy to hang onto that for you during combat.

“Shin” means you’re fucked. You give your opponent a studded belt and pray for mercy.

Also: latkes and applesauce will be available for your refreshment in between rounds.

At this point you might have noticed there aren’t any dreidels. You might be wondering where the dreidels are. Here’s a tip: pull your head out of your ass and get into the game. The dreidel’s up here. That’s right. The dreidel’s in your head. You simply approach me, look me in the eye, and spin it with your soul. If you have no fear, I’ll give you a gimmel.

OK, bitches. Time to grease the fuck up. Pass around the vaseline and get good and slick. That’s right. Grease it up for mommy.

Your adrenalin should be kicking into gear right about now, the cortisol gushing through your veins like Kedem at a weird Chabad thing your work friend roped you into. Ride it. Surf the molten energy like the sweetest monster halfpipe. If you really want to soar, I’m passing around a baggie of crank. You’re a scary fucking killer and nothing can stop you.

Now come down a second for a quick Purell break. There’s a stomach thing going around my office and I’m a bridesmaid next weekend.

Alright warriors. It’s go time. Form a tight circle. I’m just gonna hit this jelly donut one more time. Mmm, raspberry. Sha-fuckin-zam, motherfuckers!! Time to ride.

And if you can still stand by the end of the night, be sure to stay for our Hanukkah Harry gift exchange.