Henry Kisserpisser turned 100 years old today and the entire population of Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia couldn’t be happier, (and Chile and Argentina and Bangladesh … so much horror, the horror) because it means he’s closer to death! That thing which he did to thousands of people who looked and talked and believed in different things from Henry’s home country, America the Good.
Ah, but that was in the 20th Century, and older time when people believed in mythology more than in science … where men named Dick could pull off a B&E and no go to jail when they got caught. So long ago … this century is much better. Criminals go to jail … or keep their cushy political jobs … wherever the money leads.
The Big Kisser, as his cabal of suit-and-tie Medici’s called him, gave a thumb’s-up to 1000s of bombing campaigns so that America could pretend to win a war, or topple a leftish president, or just to help out a fascist bring more American goods and services to those who can’t use them nor afford them. Drink Coca Cola while the napalm rains down!
But this story really isn’t about Henry’s crimes against humanity for which he will never stand trial (is there a Hell for him? He’s Jewish … do Jews believe in Hell? Can they start doing so … just for Henry?)
This is about the weird thing that happened on the morning of Henry’s 100th.
As though stealing the first sentence from Kafka’s most famous novella, Henry “woke from unsettling dreams” to find himself, not turning into “a monstrous vermin” (my favorite of all the translations since it’s so cryptic and abstract … it could be talking about a bug … or a man named Henry), but instead covered in blood!
AHHHHHHHH! (Scream the Cambodian, Laotian and Vietnamese children as they burn, burn, burn … for love, of course, not due to jellied gasoline.)
Henry woke sweating blood.
It covered him. He tried in panic to wipe it off, but that only smeared it, made his aged face more demonic looking, as though Asmodeus himself (or itself?) was trying to crawl out from beneath Henry’s wrinkles.
He cried out to his hausefrau, “Inga Braun … what ist happening to me?!”
Inga brought out an ancient tome of dark lore and chanted a few phrases of Latin over Henry, but that did nothing! So, she dumped him into a sitz bath. He churned and roiled and cried out like a million tormented souls begging for the century to come to an end and for peace to reign again … by Henry would not listen.
Henry never listens to anyone but Henry, or anyone praising Henry. Like every American president starting with that guy named Dick.
Doesn’t the world know that an American with elite status, whether that be a president or a presidential advisor, cannot be tried for crimes against humanity? That’s like telling a British King or Queen they need to head to The Hauge and have a seat and start answering questions about the power they wield and has anyone ever been secretly killed by their families (or within their families, the black sheep, as it were).
“It can’t happen here!”
An old book which no one has read … but it was on Henry’s nightstand the night before he woke sweating out the blood of all his victims … hopefully, once he’s out of the bath, some god or devil will forgive his many sins and allow him into some kind of heaven.
Do Jews believe in Heaven? No. Sorry, Henry ... burn, burn, burn, burn, as Johnny Cash sang.
