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Nimrod Kamer
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Nimrod Kamer is the most weird son of this most beautiful Ashkenazi Israeli mother, and the legend goes that I had a one-night-stand with her eleven months before he was born. He is ice-cold and confusingly Jewish in his Israeli Un-Jewishness and utmost skinny. He looks like an innocent copy of Gene Wilder, having as much hair on his bolding head as his genetic relative Woody Allen in his youngest and most anarchic times of creation in the 70s. Thanks to his Rumanian EU-passport, Nimrod is entitled to hold due to grandparents, who escaped from Rumania some decades ago – he escaped to Europe from the mental occupation of the Israeli border-line-mood of “They-are-against-us-and-will-Ausschwitz-us-if-we-wont-occupy-them”. Today Nimrod made it and will make it big-time in the UK. In the midst of the bloody Zeroes, around 2005, I was introduced to him, the upcoming captain Internet of some big Israeli important magazine and a retired former Sudoko champ, then 25 of age and 20y younger than me, admired and loved by this happy, forlorn young hip left-wing-leaning Tel-Aviv clique for his pseudo-Dada-poetry, even invited to reading events and stuff like this. He made himself a name as a Wikipedia-expert for some Israeli culture-celebs, but – buy the way – was banned from Wikipedia years later, because of some wrongdoings. Since being unintelligent and slow-minded, I never really understand what actually happened, but a lot of Germans might love this story, if he will write about it, especially those who are convinced that the persecution of this WikiLeeks-hero (I forgot his name, what was his name?) was the biggest atrocity in the newest history of atrocities against mankind. In London there definitely is a market for his weird senseless anti-humor. The hipster crowd, following his clips on Vice Magazine, Don´t Panic, Channel 4 or Guardian TV, is mesmerized by his mini-mini Borat-appearance in his mini-clips, where he fools around, the Israeli nerd with his heavy Israeli accent, dressed in funky colorful combinations of APC or even some more exclusive fashionista brands as the young bright Rumanian Lord who bought himself for little money the title. I liked the one clip of him visiting some settler-enclave in the West Bank in which he had a Jewish skullcap on his head, describing himself to everybody as the real estate consultant of me, his patriotic uncle who wants to buy some biblical real estate (I was never allowed to talk in this clip). Nobody wanted to air this masterpiece, besides Putin´s Russia-TV because of the anti-American, anti-Zionist thing in it. But nobody uses Nimrod Kamer, he is only using them. And again, everybody, including me, loves and admires him. Be it his absolute unfunny TED-imitation-clip or his stuttering, shy lectures about how to execute a cool hashtag with your fingers, his gonzo-journalism, when he gets almost beaten up by body-guards of cheap celebs in Cannes, approaching them in order to declare that he un-followed them. He has a big obsession about “un-following” and tried to make a big hype about it. He rules on Twitter, with thousands of followers (did he buy them?), and even though I offered him a lot of money, he never made an effort to teach me the high art of tweeting. I do not know how this experiment of introducing him to the German and non-German crowd of 60p will end, but of course somehow it will end. And yes – I forgot – the most amazing and famous picture ever taken of me myself, which made it into the god-damn ABC morning news last year, with me as his mute body guard in London, with those over-seized, pseudo-authoritarian-looking Mykita-glasses that my Berlinish Maxim-Biller-domina ordered me to buy and wear a couple of weeks before. The pic is taken when Nimrod crushes the crowd of Paparazzi with a lookalike doppelgänger of Rebecca Brooks, shouting out loud that she is innocent, while I raise my hands to save her from all the cameras; the same Paparazzi, who actually waited for the real Rebecca Brooks´ hearing about her role in the phone-hacking affair as an editor of bloody Murdoch´s “News of the world”. My wife loves his humor, my 17y old middle daughter, who mostly detests my humor, gives me at least some credit for the fact that I seem to be his friend. And when I tell her, “Honey, I am not his friend, I am only used by him”, she wisely responds that being a friend or being used is actually the same shit.

People
Nimrod Kamer
by Jossi Reich