I would just like to point out this is from 2004, and predates the parody on “Family Guy” and all the others I have seen by a couple of years.

–  –  –  –  –  –


You saw “alien vs Predator.” Now
brace yourself for the next
incredible crossover battle: “Alien
vs Neurotic Jew!”

ALVY SINGER (Woody Allen’s character in “Annie Hall”) enters and addresses the audience.

Alvy’s ramblings are accompanied throughout by poignant piano music- “It Had to be You” or similar.

I guess I should tell you about the
first time I met the Alien. I was
at one of these terrible Upper East
side cocktail parties. The hostess
had been summing up her views on
the films of Fellini for the last
fourteen hours, and I was just
about to pass out from boredom face
down into the onion dip, when this
sort of alien creature, you know,
bursts out of her stomach, killing
her in what I’m sure was an
extremely painful fashion. The
Alien and I liked each other right
away. All my friends thought I was

Alvy’s FRIEND enters.

But Max, she’s an alien, she bursts
out of people’s stomachs, her blood
is acid, and she has a another,
smaller head inside of her mouth!

No one understood, but we loved
each other. But then she decided
she wanted to move to a distant,
nameless, deserted planet with no

Alvy addresses the alien personally (the alien can be onstage if we have a costume, otherwise offstage)

I just don’t see how any thinking
life-form could prefer a distant,
nameless, deserted planet with no
atmosphere to New York City. I
don’t want to live on a planet
where the only cultural advantage
is that you can lay eggs in a
person’s stomach and have your
young burst out, killing them

The Alien, unmoved, exits.

So Alien and I broke up. I did run
into her one more time. She was
back living on Earth, bursting out
of some guy’s stomach on 52nd
street, which I considered a
personal victory. I realized how
lucky I was just to know her, and
that she hadn’t eaten me. I guess
there’s one more joke that sums it
all up for me: A guy goes to a
psychiatrist and says “My brother
has an alien hatching in his
stomach.” The psychiatrist says
“why don’t you kill it?” He says,
“I would, but he needs his stomach
to live.” And that’s kind of how I
feel about relationships: they’re
painful, and disgusting, and have
acid for blood and another smaller
head inside their mouth, but we
keep doing it because, I guess, we
need our stomachs to live.

“Alien vs Neurotic Jew:” no matter
who wins, we learn something about
the bittersweet nature of romantic

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