Deipnosophist- a person who is a master of dinner-table conversation
Ex: A good dinner party host is not required to be a deipnosophist, but it doesn’t hurt. A few years ago, I had to sit through a Passover Seder in which the host was an insufferable academic type who prattled on and on about the petty details of the Passover story, making sure to read through a litany of additional rabbinical commentaries for every minute plot point. He even went so far as to construct a mathematical formula to quantify Rashi’s interpretation of Moses’ lisp, which, according to a bar graph passed around the table, fell somewhere between Mike Tyson’s and Michael Strahan’s. The Seder guests begged and pleaded with him to hurry through the story so we could eat some real food. Our stomachs turned and tossed like the Red Sea as they attempted to process the cardboard matzo and fish sausage topped with horseradish served earlier. But just like Pharaoh, he wouldn’t listen to our anguished cries. Being a subservient little cuck of a man, he only responded to his wife, who wore not just the pants, but also the jock strap, and the yarmulke. Their relationship was akin to that of a deep-sea anglerfish. He existed simply to serve her. At some point in their past he swam up to her—an imposing midnight blue specimen—and fused to her body. Over time, his nose and mouth dissolved and he became merely an appendage of hers. He became reliant on her for nutrition and all other necessary life functions. Once established as a parasitic cuck, his sole purpose was to provide her with reproductive material to ensure the continuation of their bloodline. Through all of this, he kept his passion for Judaic teachings alive. “If the ancient Israelites could survive 400 years of oppression at the hands of the Egyptians, followed by 40 years of wandering the desert, then the least I could do is recount the story while my wife…” *His wife almost lifts him up out of his chair by his ear*
“Morris, I said, it’s time for the Brisket!”
“Oh yes, yes honey. The Shulchan Oreich, coming right up! Everyone feel free to bring your plates up to the kitchen and help yourselves…”
“MORRIS! Did you forget to put the kugel on the hot plate? Can you all believe my pissant husband forgot to heat up the kugel!?”
“I’m so sorry honey, I’m so sorry. I’m good for bupkus. She doesn’t deserve me. YOU DON’T DESERVE ME CHANNAH! Go ahead, beat me like Moses did to the Egyptian taskmaster. Go ahead, do it!”
*Seder guests are seen awkwardly prodding their bitter herbs with the backs of their knives. Shmulik and Yossi are staring down at the half-eaten knadels in their matzo ball soup. *sigh* Another eventful Passover at the Shfarbmensteins*