Leibowitz Concludes by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
Download the book in PDF, ePub, Kindle for a complete version.
The Invisible Man was seen as he resurrected from an extended
life. His passé attire enlightened the demi monde habituates,
resplendent in their well-travelled, Neil Armstrong-Pillsbury
dough boy, stay-at-home housedresses. The Visible Man wrapped
Page 222
himself in the covert au natural and effectively rapped out a
down ditty in a fashion prophetic of the past thing to come. He
didn’t do okay for a white boy from Bed-Stuy. The Japanese
audience swooned and clapped in their derision, leaving for an
encore.
“What about me?” implored Orpheus Mictlantecuhtli; his face
contorted in an agony which evinced a joyful disinterest. The
seated Bacchantes made a production of sitting down and made
their presence unknown. They spread their un-decorated legs,
revealing the hidden embellishment. The chaste, skillful,
experienced black one at the center of the eight said; “Come and
don’t get it. We all misplaced something right here for you.”
They mirthlessly giggled as Orpheus backtracked to get closer in
search of an eagle’s long range perspective. His failure was
fruitful. As he ate he drank from his black coffee cup and
offered everyone tea.
He rejoiced in his depressing inability to discover the openly
observable source of his loss for words; which he articulated at
length for the benefit of catnapping justice; his alert doggie.
Seeing the heat through the kitchen window; he bundled up and
went inside.
Page 223
Brexit
You know, it’s time to admit that this whole thing is just a
righteous majority reaction to a well-mannered people being
uncontrollably and illegally infiltrated and descended upon by a
group of enormously objectionable people. For once let us clear
the air, PCP be damned. These gatecrashers first messed up their
native home and now are attempting to export the damage
elsewhere. The interlopers’ conduct is deplorable by any
standard imaginable. What on earh do these people, and I use
that term loosely, have in common with British folks? Nothing.
The chummiest affiliation one can reasonably imagine is the
English love of properly trained and well-mannered canines,
their reasonable tolerance level in this case, one which ignores
the “properly trained and well-mannered,” aspects in a stiff-
upper-lipped, though optimistic approach to barbarity.
I’m certain that you have already surmised the group of whom I
speak. We are now PCP obliged to register outward civility when
in their presence. Yes, I'm talking about the Polocks. Since I
am one I thereby have a right to use that word, just like a
black comedian is allowed to say the "N" word; and just as Obama
graced a non-comedian with its use right in his face, with a nod
and a smile. Don’t dare criticize this observation without also
criticizing N’s who say “N” and that phony N, Obama. The only
Page 224
"legitimate" objection morally imaginable would come from
another Polock and to them I repeat part of Poland's national
anthem; "Don't tell me what to do."
Hokey dokey; preliminaries out of the way, despite some recent
on-line drivel about white people being all the same, one would
have to enter the worlds of matter and anti-matter to find two
groups more diametrically opposed than Brits and Polocks.
For a few examples;
1) Polocks are much better looking; and that becomes a problem
for the Brits when the Polocks start getting all the women. You
know, it's not like we're even trying. We already have more than
we can handle, and we literally have to beat the English birds
off with sticks.
2) We're really good workers as long as you don't give
complicated instructions like; "Do this if ..............."
We're either going to do it or we ain't. Damn. Make up your
mind, and we’ll get along just fine.
3) We don't recognize unwritten rules. Subtleties are concocted
to confuse veracity challenged intellectuals.
4) Daily showers cause skin rashes in those with fair skin.
But there is hope. We do share one trait with the Brits. We like
Page 225
our rye. So far the comradery gained through the sharing of
liquor has been marred by a Polock belief in the concept of "If
one is good, two is better." Hence, we kind of keep going until
we're kissing the porcelain ass holder. We can work it out. Your
dainty linens can be saved with public access to barf bags every
ten feet.
Hard bottom line, though. We’re not nasty people, but we ain't
goin' back where we came from. So, deal with it. Only jobs back
home are minimum wage, trying to clean up all the nuclear waste
the goddam Russkies left. Forget about that. Or perhaps I should
say “Hard cheese.”
Josephine
A bucket-less woman came on screen and sat at a desk, which she
immediately and haphazardly cluttered with papers. She appeared
to be sixtyish, thin and as energetic as a Comanche who had just
spotted white people with rifles. She said; “Good evening
........... Good morning ........ or a good whatever time you’re
watching. It’s night time for me, but ........... Anyway,
welcome to ‘Crab with Josephine.’ I’m Josephine Nuccio. You may
have thought that with this outfit, I was a Native American. No,
not at all. My mother and father got here by way of Sicily.
....... Did you expect me to say Florence, Venice or Naples? If
Page 226
that’s where they were from I don’t think they’d have left.”
Muffled sounds reached the mike.
“Whooooo yourself. For those of you new to the show, for its
initial seven years this unprofessionally produced public access
presentation was called ‘Mesa Grande Political Action.’ But,
after seven years of not getting any; ........ action that is
......... What’s so funny? You guys must be messed up on
something good. ....... Oh. Anyway, after having not been able
to stir up any meaningful interest .......... Oh, come on.
You’re getting ridiculous. Keep it up and I’ll tell the manager
what you’re ingesting back there. I changed it to ’Crab with
Josephine.’ It’s a place to vent all the frustrations no one
wants to hear. I listen and then vent mine or vice versa. Fair
enough? ............ These phones working? ........... That’s
one of the problems with this new technology. I’m here to take
calls at 8PM, but you’re probably watching at some other time.
........... The suicide hotline works the same way? ..........
No, it can’t. You’re putting me on. ............ Really? No.
Because if you call them when they are on tape, you can at least
leave a message. ....... I don’t know. It might do some good.
......... Probably not? Okay. This week I’ve written some
thoughts about the entertainment industry. Appropriate? Let me
just read them. It might stimulate someone to call. ....... Oh,
Page 227
shut up, stupid. ............. You sure these phones are
working?”
With some difficulty Josephine collected some of her loose
papers, put on her glasses and read. “Older, isolated areas were
seen as a monetarily inviting opportunity to those whose
inflated stock prices were on the verge of a crash. The paper
pushers were dependent on constantly growing market share. In
their wisdom the conquistadors of bite and mega-bite, saw a
“new,” and ideally envisioned, sequestered market of those
inclined or destined to be alone. They were more than willing to
re-purchase things they already had, if those things were put in
a modern package, substantially out of a boredom engaged to a
propensity to appear ‘hip.’ Their naively American and mass
marketing-conducive willingness to be subjected to the
manipulation of the learned was an incalculable plus. This
morally problematic scenario was envisioned and shrugged at in
conference-room-meeting-groups of up-and-coming Ivy League
MBA’s. Their self-satisfaction and affected superior mannerisms
were put on bottom line trial. Laughingly, from their exalted
and removed stations in the overly air-conditioned rooms, they
discussed schemes, which if correctly marketed and implemented,
would prove to justify the existence of the glassed room filled
Page 228
with those desiring to view themselves in the Narcissistic
reflections provided by the smudged waves.
They didn’t take long to agree that the problem was really a
simple one. All they had to do was combine old, needy human
nature with new technology. Just change the format again, and
sell it to them as a ‘new’ product; a maze of derivatives. They
were already entertainment and drug addicted. Their employers
already had the technical ability to reach everywhere; and only
needed paying customers. Now they would extend that reach with
inexpensively available products; old movies, old TV shows, and
old footage of concerts, in full expectation that it would sell,
at least to those isolated and desperate.
In their artificially lit rooms, their only view, other than
that of their own reflections, was of the others who worked for
their companies, in an undetected photocopy of themselves. They
considered this aspect idyllic. As good business-men and women,
their self-indulgent visions glossed over the imperfections
obvious in their self-reflecting views of those in ‘lesser’
rooms.
They were grad school taught that the majority of the non-MBA
world was easily vanquished as it was without defense. Who would
Page 229
dare to be a self-sacrificial-impediment to the cunning? No one,
but the few formerly institutionalized crazies, temporarily
‘liberated’ in the aberrant sixties. They were further fortified
by the fact that this plan did not require reliance upon the
vagaries of the ever changing capital asset pricing model. There
was staying power in the old adage attributed to PT Barnum; ‘No
one ever lost a nickel underestimating the intelligence of the
American public.’ Sure, public libraries would be possible
competition. But, one of their own had already made inroads into
supplying a surreptitious and sophisticated form of fireman 451.
Besides, only 18% of the people read 80% of the books; and the
other books read are of the cooking and zombie varieties.
The future palaces of the impeccably credentialed, in places
like Gig Harbor and Greenwich were assured. But, this alone was
not satisfying. They had a need to publicly demonstrate their
superiority to the lessers of men. They needed the worship of
the broke and broken. Any sensitivity to the contrary was only a
desperate sucker’s inclination to play the fool.
As a further proven-to-be-successful scam aimed at the sufferer,
the slog-resistant, found reason to extract or posit an
uninteresting, paid-for announcement rising at the inglorious
moment of habitually capitulated monetary confrontation. The
Page 230
scheme was irreconcilably contrived by the denizens of the un-
naturally, cold and uncomfortably sleek. They thought it a sure
shot to make the audacity of their co-opted, sixty year old,
‘smiley-faced,’ and anointed joke favorably evolve, without any
merit other than a possible nostalgia for its worn out cuteness.
It had proven to be un-attackable for decades, in its cunning
proficiency to be regarded as everyone’s friend.
In their dearth of creativity, the buttoned-downed proposed the
seemingly simple, engineered to be further addicting
distractions, with which it was imprudent to argue;
inexpensively available, proven hits from times past playable on
demand at any time with lucrative advertising space sold to
other commercial enterprises seeking to expand their markets;
and if they were the slightest degree of fortunate; to the
entirety of the un-fulfilled world. It was instantaneously
accessible, irresistible homesickness at a 90% profit margin.
All things from all times thus became easily available with
three left clicks of a mouse and an automatic monthly charge to
an overburdened credit card. Future planned product
‘enhancements’ would add to the gravy.
The appeal was immediately overwhelming to those memorabilia
freaks wishing to escape to the past and pay for the TV they
Page 231
freely watched in years prior. The MBA’s wildest dreams came
true as everyone got on board. A few de-institutionalized freaks
saw the machinated mind set as something riotously banal and in
an effort to reduce the popularity to absurdity, spoke of the
retrograde manifestation as the completely un-imaginative
arrival of the monetary bull-horn, irresistible to the
hopelessly addicted sucker’s acquiescence to the call of the
time-and-place-faulty presentation, which overly compensates the
powers that loom; a very old, but continually repeated, and
demonstrated winning story, enjoyed in disdain of the masses, by
the bespectacled and monetarily proficient ‘elite’”
Josephine put the papers aside, removed her glasses, loosened
her long, tied back gray hair and defiantly stared at the
camera. A phone rang. She picked up the receiver and said; “This
is ‘Crab with Josephine.’”
The male caller said; “Where do you get this stuff?”
“My head. Where do you get yours?”
“Not from fantasy. I see what’s real. ......... Were you ever
there?”
“Only in spirit.”
“That won’t hold up in a court of law.”
Page 232
“We’re not constricted to one. ......... Look, do you have any
doubt that a profit seeking enterprise wants to supply cheap
goods at high prices to perpetually consuming customers?”
“That’s how things work. Are you some kind of Communist? What’s
wrong with maximizing profits through maximizing choices?”
“Should we be allowed the drug of our choice?”
A muted “Yeah, yeah, yeah” was heard from the film crew.
“That’s different.”
“In what way?”
“For Christ sake. Drugs are harmful. Don’t tell me you didn’t
know that.”
“And I suppose that ignoring your family to stay mesmerized by
the grandchild of the boob tube isn’t.”
“You’re getting all over the place.”
“No, the grandchild of the boob tube is; just like the plague.
It’s gotten to the point of ridiculous. When I walk my dog in
the morning, I often pass by a young boy and young girl; each
maybe 15, waiting for the school bus. They stand about 50 feet
apart and each is busily typing in messages to some handheld,
‘connected’ device. Now, given their ages, I would have to think
that he’s looking to meet some girl and she’s looking to meet
some guy. And there they are, right there, ignoring each other
in favor of an electronic device replete with phonies, predators
and false promises. There is no way anyone is going to convince
Page 233
me that that is not an addiction; a venomous detachment
detrimental to humanity for the profit of the few.”
“You know, you draw conclusions before the evidence is in. Maybe
they’ve already met and don’t like each other.”
“I have a revelation for you. The evidence is never fully in. If
you wait for it to be you will die first. ......... Listen, the
evidence is that you called a show titled ‘Crab with Josephine,’
and you’re not crabbing. You’re an apologist for the stupid
metal and plastic devices, which are worshipped more than
Jesus.”
Another phone rang.
The caller said; “I’m crabbing. I’m crabbing about you.”
Josephine laughed and replied; “Crabbing about the crab. I
suppose that fits nicely into the concepts of death dying and
disease becoming diseased; so po-po-mo. You spoke of your notion
of reality. Get real yourself; then watch somebody else with
your infinite supply of choices. I’ve got another call.”
Josephine hung up one phone and picked up the other saying;
“You’re on ‘Crab with Josephine,’ and if you think everything is
just wonderful, call somebody else.”
A young male voice answered; “I don’t know what I think. I’m
fifteen and one thing I’m sure of is that Wikipedia has enabled
me to know more at this age than my father did when he was
Page 234
forty. But, I’m beginning to suspect that something is wrong.
Let me just recount something I’ve seen virtually every day for
the last three years. Whenever my family; mother, father, sister
and I have dinner we all bring our laptops to the table, plug in
the earphones and watch .......... watch whatever is on the
screen. We don’t speak. We rarely even look at each other. But,
when I watch the old shows, I see that dinner was once a time
when families told each other about what they were doing, joked,
got chastised and learned manners. I’m not trying to sound
superior. I’ve been doing the same thing myself. But, lately
I’ve been investigating psychological theories, which seem to
suggest that someday this will come back to haunt us in ways not
presently precisely determinable. Be that as it may. The damage
has already been done, and the forces are strong enough to
remain in place for some time. I have a question. Are these
machines compelling us to separate? Or, do we inherently dislike
each other, and use the machines as an excuse to ignore the
others? I’ll hang up and listen to any replies you or your
viewers may have.”
Josephine gently put her receiver back in its cradle. Her eyes
blinked and her forehead seemed to display lines deeper than
they were seconds prior. She murmured; “I don’t know. ...... I
really have no idea. It seems to me as if that is an
Page 235
unanswerable chicken or the egg question. If David Foster
Wallace, one of the geniuses of our time, were still with us, I
am convinced that he would have clearly stated that we do not
like each other. I hope he was wrong about that one, but the
odds are against it, as he was right about everything else.”
Page 236
**9**
First Management Memo Recorded Herein
To: Programming employees, program hosts, and the inevitable
grunts chancing to see this memo
From: Management
Subject: CCCP Mission Statement further explicated
We would first like to compliment you on a job well done which
has put us in the top three of cable TV shows, while inducing
only one scurrilous charge of the dissemination of false news,
missing 76 others which we attribute to the long standing
favoritism afforded absurd Nu-lib content. Management has done
its damage control duty and has successfully rectified that one
noted situation to the satisfaction and/or confusion endemic to
the standardized nit-pickers represented through on-line wolf
packs with the daunting power of denied likes and voluminous
mis-qouting rhetoric at their disposal, and more importantly to
the advertisisers and stock owners, both current and potential,
adjusted for the amount of US green their management has been
authorized to disburse. Having said that, it is not recommended,
nor is it in compliance with CCCP policy (Manual #7A, revised
Page 237
12-28-19, p.440; expanded 2022 revision pending) to refer to any
possible segment, real or imagined, of the LGBT&Q community with
derogatorily phrased descriptions of homo standard operating
fare, insofar as that can be known to members of alternative
communities, as Peter Puffers. That is clearly wrong, as that
would also be to refer to the second highest category as Carpet
Munchers, that standing perhaps a suggestion of a recognition of
the continued inability of white women, not of their be-knighted
fault, to be recognized as equalized oppressors of the
uneducated darkies.
We digress to an asinine fault. We here at management would like
to primarily re-inform you, as well as our own natural
instincts, so often clouded through our computer-age, over-
supply of information, most we believe best ignored, of the
simplicity in the fact that we either make a profit or we’re all
out on our asses.
To that end, no unfunny pun intended about our mutually
dependent asses, we all must recognize that our easy days of
Rumpole bashing is coming to a close. According to our private,
in-house polls, good old Bailey’s White House occupancy is
assigned a 78% chance of ending by 12-31; the result of
impeachment or resignation in personal disgust. Yes, our gravy
Page 238
train may shortly have reached the end of the line, insofar as
our polls prevaricate, which dourly portend a necessary end to
the unproblematic humor provided through the mere duplication of
President Rumpole’s solitary voice. We senior managers, as far
sighted and reaching planners, doing our due diligence, to
prepare all the way into the wilds of a potential next year,
find it prudent to inform staff as well as flunkies in
possession of this semi-directive that the old jokes about
Rumpole’s pants-pooping may shortly no longer serve as a
rallying cry to the nitwits polled by Nielsen, establishing the
“credentials” which enable our show to achieve more inflow than
outgo. In that vein, management would appreciate any suggetions,
even that provided by grunts, which might address this currently
hypothetical, but surely coming dilemma. Our suspicions have
identified a “new” group of significance, “new” when the ADD’s
fail to recall their high school Greek and Roman histories, we
have tentatively named the “meta-homos.”
You who think you know us understand that we cast no aspersions,
and respect the ersatz meta-homos just as much as we did the
preceding greasers, hippies, new-agers, and people not yet
“Psychology Today” diagnosed as having some abnormality; not
that we would scorn the concocted attributes of people who are
still most likely to relish their belief that they are
Page 239
discriminated against through incorrectly being thought of, in
popular settings, as abnormal. Indeed, we have all had many good
friends of members of this ilk. Further, these meta-homos
increasingly insist upon supportive behavior and commentary,
rather than the abject disinterest and benign neglect often
shown here on CCCP intending kindness or similarly motivated
apathy and boredom. This market will undoubtedly become a more
significant factor here, when the Rupole jokes cease and the old
Pence quotes are resurrected. In that vein, we have established
an additional bonus fund for all program hosts and guests
willing to demonstrate their support through cross dressing on
camera.
We here in the cloistered walls of top management are well aware
that no one in the ranks and files, so to speak, anymore
entertains the silly notion of this being a news channel,
certainly after having had the benefit of seeing “Network,” done
before most of us were born. We are about entertainment; giving
the people what the efforts of our great TV forebears, like
Aaron Spelling, and might I say quite lucratively, have happily
addicted them to, now available as often as the shark moves. If
the viewers wanted real news, they would go to Reuters,
unsurprisingly now consigned to a low income internet existence.
Our format of continual beating of the same dead horse all day,
Page 240
night, week, and periodically month has proven to register well
with our highly educated viewers. So, no change is indicated,
other than some subtle garment adjustments previously mentioned
and perhaps an increased level of make-up on the men.
We’d like to take this time to speak with you of the divisive
concept of “Too much information,” hereinafter referred to as
TMI, later after said division TMI1 and TMI2. Please be advised
that we are not accusing anyone here of being guilty of any sort
of TMI violation, 1 or 2, other than the good TMI, which is
attested to by our viewer-approved, month-long discussions of
Bailey Post Rumpole’s fascist stupidities. You surely have
demonstrated that you rightly recognize that TMI comes in two
strains, and we feel that it is our responsibility as top
managers to issue this cautionary and overly-explanatory note. A
more precise directive will eventually be part of still pending
Manual #7B, expanded 2022 revision of 2021’s 7A. For now we are
limited to the depiction of TMI, type 2, through somewhat
contrary and anecdotal case studies, as opposed to any sort of
generalized rule. Again, we’d like to commend you for your
excellent entertaining instincts in operating as if this
directive was already in place. So, don’t obsess on this, as it
is no criticism, complaint, warning, censure, disapproval,
reproach, denunciation, or even a targeted innuendo whatsoever.
Page 241
Okay? We managers just want to go on record as having said this
just in case one of you go crazy and mess up, in that said case
we managers will have some ground to stand on while attempting
to save our own asses by condemning yours. Example chosen. You
might recall the week wherein that black guy was shot to death
by two white and ostensibly male cops in Birmingham, during a
routine traffic stop. Please note the simple warm and fuzzy
rhythm our viewers most seek, when you remove a few words,
ostensibly certainly one of them. BLACK KILLED ... WHITE COPS
... ROUTINE. For your information those words have been
copyrighted, and are currently being considered for the comeback
album of Niggas With Attitude, hereinafter referred to as NWA,
if at all. You will appreciate the beat which puts Gass’ “Middle
C” to shame, and undoubtedly would have gotten nines and tens on
“The Dick Clark Show,” for having a good beat you can dance to,
even if the words get in the way of some boogying feet.
Apologies if that is insufficiently humble, but WTF. The much
more important matter at hand is that this event happened while
you crack and valued CCCP programming and hosting crews were
righteously pre-occupied for a month with an endlessly
entertaining discussion-evaluation-outrage over Rumpole’s
implied reference to a common banality endemic to bourgeois
homeowners of; “Good fences make good neighbors,” exascerbated
by the provocative; “Either we have a country or we don’t,”
Page 242
those overly simplistic concepts, an absolutely atrocious, at-
times alliterative, anathematical atrocity, a’s an arduous one,
to our highly educated as unvetted surveys indicate, of our
viewer’s common tendency toward having attended “some post-
graduate school,” on-line or off, as further indicated through
in-house management surveys of the unknown and un-documented
viewers. Why are the a’s not registering? The point here is that
despite the easily accessible song aspect available which PBS
made good and ersatz “complete” use of to elicit their desired
listener’s hollow cheeked tsk-tsk’s, it was a real downer when
declining Fox News stupidly chose to fill in the irrelevant and
un-entertaining details of the dead nigga having been on film
before, during, and after his racistly provoked demise with a
cocked nine in his hand, in possession of 2,900 OxyContin pills,
wore all red even before the bleeding, was ensconced in a red,
recent model Mercedes with an Illinois vanity license plate of
“BLOODSFUKU,” and was listed on the national registry of
suspected drug dealing child killers, with prior arrests ranging
from Miami to Albuquerque, with seven stops in between, warrants
outstanding. No, no, no, and no. BadTMI2, BadTMI2, BadTMI2, and
BadTMI2. Hear the headache inducing clank? CCCP is not the right
venue for a ten minute Bob Dylan song. We here at remote senior
management are confident that our operatives recognize fake news
when they are confronted with it; the functioning natural
Page 243
instinct for the essential entertainment values well
demonstrated through practice. Fake news is making up something
that didn’t happen. Fake news is not about debatably
“insignificant” and audience-numbing detail being not included.
There must be some of those among you who foolishly cherish the
recognition afforded by the receipt of news-casting and
journalism awards. Our sincere sympathies are extended to any
such poor bastard. Here at CCCP, the only receipts we are
interested in are those measurable in cash, the result of having
many goo-eyed, giggly entertainment addicts. If awards are what
you seek, you would do well to take a low paying job at PBS. At
CCCP, we will not give two wet raspberries about awards, until
the day our actuaries determine that the receipt of these
academically bestowed irrelevances have a direct relationship to
the coin of the televised realm.
We here are grateful for Bailey Post Rumpole. Our gratitude has
nothing to do with his perceived politics, which by the way
sounds rightly and equally as mercenary as ours, his
relationship with Rasputin, his ties to admitted felons, his
liasons with porn stars, or his poop pants. He is merely an easy
butt for mediocre TV comedy writers, which TV addicts crave and
crave and crave.
Page 244
Our format of never ending “expert” discussions of what Bailey
implies, will likely do next, his disdain for the common man,
the size of his thingy, his taxes, his Russians, his whores, his
piss freaks, and the psychologically based insanity assessments
issued by those who have never met him are the very fodder of
what our viewers favor as entertainment, just as much as what is
made readily available near the convenient checkout counter for
those not emamored or enabled to make do with the efficiency
offered by the self-service aisle, those “soul-less machines”
not yet holding racks full of “The National Enquirer.” And don’t
ever forget those poop pants jokes. People feel some need to
officially say that they don’t approve of them, but take it from
me, in private they laugh their trousered bums off, just like
they did when they were ten.
Let me tell you a true short story of when I was but a lowly,
yet avaricious assistant management trainee, still wearing
Barney’s off-the-rack. At the time, the boss was one of those
old, hard-to-please curmudgeons who spoke of garbage like public
morality, ethics, newscasting as an important profession,
something to do with the checks and balances prescribed in the
Constitution or some other hoary and wrinkly hard-copy remnant
of a time when people used the inconvenience of quills rather
Page 245
than their computers, and most annoyingly a supposed
responsibility to humorless people who would also watch other
channels; as if he was cavalierly above money and that everyone
else should be that way too. ....... Trust me, I’m not making
any of this up. Anyway, I was snooping right outside his office
and heard him talking to some phone avatar about assigning
someone the project of going down to the Lower East Side, and
interviewing some bums about what it’s like to be a stinking
bum, and how that was affected by the recent availability and
distribution of methadone to bum heroin addicts. Needless to
say, I thought it imperative to hide and took a magazine and
scampered into the bathroom, locking myself in a stall. Old
Curmug, a tiny man whose constantly bright, bloodshot face was
consistent with the color of Gallo’s Sweet Red and in possession
of a chin which barely cleared the top of the big boy’s urinal
came in a few minutes later, hitting the urinal, with his suck
up flunky two inches away frantically nodding yes to everything
motor mouthed Old Curmug was saying. This was typical. What
wasn’t typical was when Old Curmug pulled down his zipper, his
ass said; “Perrup-pup-pup-pup-pup,” and his mouth said; “Oh,
Jesus.” As much as I didn’t want to laugh out loud and reveal my
whereabouts, I couldn’t help it. But, I got lucky. Old Curmug’s
priorities apparently changed from giving out any assignments to
getting his pants un-pooped.
Page 246
So, let me close with a plea. Please keep treating CCCP as an
entertainment vehicle, please keep using those poop pants jokes,
please consider some wardrobe adjustments, please think about a
new butt for the jokes, and if possible try to determine what,
if anything, these meta-homos find funny.
Leibowitz Concludes
Page 247
Leibowitz Concludes
Page 248
Leibowitz Concludes
Page 249
Overflowing purse and “First I Look at the Purse” by Robert Rogers, Smokey Robinson, and William
Robinson Jr.; property of the author, the latter under both the “fair use” and “transformative”
doctrines.
Page 250
**10**
“Fortuitously” Thematic Web Memoirs
With nothing else to do and seeking a fun site for petty
rebellious entertainment, Mark googled “unintentionally
absurdist stories,” and for his first choice clicked on
BriefDumbMemoirs.com, after noting that the description said the
site had acquired a volume of its required life-stories-in-less-
than-1,000-words, or five pages, whichever is less. He was in no
mood for all the filler yadda yadda, and considered it worth a
shot to read some short, un-professional lies, especially since
it was “free.” In other words the site operators had not yet
attracted any advertisers, and wouldn’t dare try to charge its
100 users a fee. He read.
Leibowitz Concludes
Page 251
Pumping
There seems to be a strong literary trend right now, insofar as
that is demonstrated on the net, of interest in how a writer
goes about his job. In an attempt to stay ahead of the curve, I
figured I'd tell you all what's it's like to do mine. You
probably are unaware of how important we septic tank pumpers are
to the world. Without us, there would literally be shit all over
the place; in your backyard, in your house, and even in your
drinking water. Sure, all the respect is paid to those who own
the trucks and the dispatchers who answer the phones and tell us
where to go, but just think about it for one second. If you only
had them, you'd have the aforementioned shit all over the place;
Page 252
and places that neither you nor I have even imagined. Shot
happens. Not good. So, every day we pumpers put on our stink
pants and do our best for humanity with little pay. No
complaints, it's more than a calling, we are chosen. The stink
pants, in and of themselves, are a problem. You can't help but
get some of the stuff on ya, and it has a half-life, which never
fully ends. My wife won't allow them in the house, and I have to
keep them in the chicken barn, where the clucking birds register
what they apparently consider to be their good, well-informed
taste by staying away from them, as if their pellets didn't
stink. The sheer audacity! You ever get a whiff of chicken shit
after a rain? I'm sure you remember if you did. I've tried to
sneak the pants in to use the washer-dryer when my wife has gone
shopping, and boy did I ever catch holy hell. That immortal
stink bombed out the laundry room, the hallway, and part of the
living room. When she came back, she immediately started
yelling; "What on earth are you doing here?" And when she
covered her nose with a towel, and investigated she made a bee
line for the dryer she saw my still revolving stink pants and
what I had done. She opened all the windows, on a cold January
day, and told me to get the stinking pants out, and stay with
them. Well, the pants went back with the chickens, but I put my
foot down and came back in, though was sequestered in the 25
degree rooms with no water, as the pipes had frozen. I tried to
Page 253
sleep the time away on the floor, like any resident of County
quickly learns to, but the dog kept growling at me because he
had trouble drinking the ice in his dish, and I couldn't for
fear of attack. And some of these desk jockeys get all whiney
about Gulags in Siberia.
Bolstered by the overnight de-stinking, which brought the odor
down to a level the EPA finds acceptable, the next morning my
wife insisted that I quit this low income job and improve our
lots at Mickey D's. When I started lying that she should just
hang on a bit longer, as any day now the owner was going to
triple my pay, and make me a supervisor, and no more stink
pants, she got mad just because she heard that well intentioned
little fabrication 10 times over the past 2 years, and said she
was leaving unless I became a better scented fries manager. I
tried to explain to her that fries were not my dream or
choosing, stressing their greasy exteriors, but she left anyway.
On the positive side, I can now keep my stink pants in my stink
house, until it is re-possessed, and she took the lousy dog. I
feel that I'm doing what God wanted me too, and my heart is
warmed whenever I see the appreciative looks in the tearful eyes
of the gagging pumpees on discount days.
Leibowitz Concludes
Page 254
Tomorrow; the ontological process of the pumper.
Page 255
Greetings
I greet people at Walmart, always saying “Have a nice day,” and
I mean that sincerely every time. I counted them up once. 1,920
“Have a nice day”s” in an eight hour shift. It can get
monotonous. But, I’ve tried experimentally saying; “Have a good
one,” or “Enjoy the good weather,” and I just get funny looks.
People just get so comfortable with the same dullness over and
over and over again. They say they don’t like it, but they sure
as hell act as if a live wire jolted their ass whenever there’s
a deviation. One even indignantly complained to my supervisor,
demanding to know just what I had meant by saying; “Warm
greetings to you.” My supervisor didn’t make any fuss, but she
got a four foot square happy face with “Have a nice day” written
on it, and propped it up on my little table. As she left she
said; “Just say that.” I was so embarrassed, as I figured that
the customers would see it, and think I was a moron or
something. Jeez, I’ll yell you, every creative instinct I might
have had died right there.
Sprinkler Man
I work for a new outfit named “Only Sprinklers.” I don’t like to
brag, but the fact is that I’m the head sprinkler specialist.
They gave me my own panel truck too, and now my wife and I don’t
Page 256
have to pay for a second car. “Only Sprinklers” does other
things too, like drip line installation and maintenance, lawn
mowing, rocks, fountains, leaf raking, bush planting, and pretty
much anything you need done outside. But I only do sprinklers.
It doesn’t bother me any, but the owners took this limiting name
to capitalize on the success of “Sprinklers Only.” So the rock,
mowing, drip, leaf and bush guys don’t do as well as me. See,
people don’t read. All our ads say that we do the other stuff,
but customers just see “Only Sprinklers,” and quit reading as
the lazy people think “Oh, only sprinklers.” Many of them have
had experience with “Sprinklers Only” who really do only
sprinklers, and they probably don’t even remember if they were
last serviced by old “Sprinklers Only” or new “Only Sprinklers.”
At first, this didn’t bother me because I only do sprinklers,
but then I got to thinking; “What if the customer wanted both
their sprinklers and drip lines looked at?” I’d be missing out
because the owners took a stupid name and the stupid customers
are too goddam lazy to read, and just call somebody else they
know does both.
So, I figured out how to make sure that I got mine. See, most of
the time the sprinklers only need to be washed out, and most
Page 257
customers don’t hang aroungd to watch what I’m doing. So, I wash
‘em out, screw ‘em back on, and charge the customer for a new
one. Gotta be slick these days.
Cinder Block Carrier
I’m in construction. The ones with the nail guns get all the
glory. Bunch of weaklings. I carry the blocks. Makes my arms
strong. I don’t get no lip. When they need me, they be real
polite. You know. R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Pays pretty good. Get some
overtime and weekends. Don’t have to pay for fancy clothes.
Name’s McCarthy. What else?
Semanticist
Lay people probably do not understand my well-paid work; lay
people essentially are others, as seen through the lense of one
who is well-versed or with ersatz expertise in semantics, or a
subject. Lay people do not communicate well, causing problems of
misunderstanding; and we professional have studied the subject
to the PhD level, so that we can tell them that and write witty
notes to each other. Semantics is the linguistic and
philosophical study of meaning, in language, programming
languages, formal logics, and semiotics. It is concerned with
the relationship between signifiers; such as words, phrases,
signs, and symbols, and what they stand for in reality, a topic
Page 258
for advanced discussion, and their denotation. In international
scientific vocabulary semantics is also called semasiology. The
word semantics was first used by Michel Bréal, a French
philologist. It denotes a range of ideas, from the popular to
the highly technical. It is often used in ordinary language for
denoting a problem of understanding that comes down to word
selection or connotation. This problem of understanding has been
the subject of many formal enquiries, over a long period of
time, especially in the field of formal semantics. In
linguistics, it is the study of the interpretation of signs or
symbols used in agents or communities within particular
circumstances and contexts. Within this view, sounds, facial
expressions, body language, and proxemics have semantic
(meaningful) content, and each comprises several branches of
study. In written language, things like paragraph structure and
punctuation bear semantic content; other forms of language bear
other semantic content. The formal study of semantics intersects
with many other fields of inquiry, please not the “I” now
substuted for the prior “e,” including lexicology, syntax,
pragmatics, etymology and others. Independently, semantics is also a well-defined field in its own right, often with synthetic
properties. In the philosophy of language, semantics and
reference are closely connected. Further related fields include
philology, communication, and semiotics. The formal study of
Page 259
semantics can therefore be manifold and complex. Semantics
contrasts with syntax, the study of the combinatorics of units
of a language without reference to their meaning, and
pragmatics, the study of the relationships between the symbols
of a language, their meaning, and the users of the language.[5]
Semantics as a field of study also has significant ties to
various representational theories of meaning including truth
theories of meaning, coherence theories of meaning, and
correspondence theories of meanings. I should stop here as I’m
sure I’m well over your lay head.
Nu-lib-anarcho-communisti-socialist
All power to the correct non-white people, me the exception. We
don’t give a wet rat raspberry about you bourgeois bores. Just
send us that money you’ve stolen from the people. I will scare
you into supporting me. If you don’t I’ll cry the blues and make
you sympathize with me. Give it up, fool. Either way I win.
Street Philosopher
If a person wants to be a friend they should be treated with
reciprocity plus one. If they prove to not be one, they will be
evaluated on a cold, rational monetary basis on a good day, and
with a hot bomb on a bad one. Take your pick.
Page 260
Bathroom Re-Modeler
Suavemir Szymanski is name. From Poland came. There work bad.
Concrete is made the houses. Flimsy here. Make work easy.
Someday big wind come along, blow everything away. Re-model
bathroom I do, like before me father. Good he not do. Here I
make good bathroom business.
Fadadip fadadoo.
Street Basketball Playa
Rucker Park be a roundball court in Harlem, Manhattan, New York
City, US of A, at 155th Street and Frederick Douglass Boulevard
cross da street from da former Polo Grounds site. It at da base of a tall-ass cliff named Coogan's Bluff uh dat Giant baseball guy’s fame. Bobby Thompson. Many moons ago. Ballers who play
hyah get dem sum fame fo dey skills, an sum also played in da
NBA, as Rucka be the bes’.
Ah ben playin’ up hyah ...... or down hyah, depens on way won
is, fo twenny years now; started wen ah was jus’ a snot nose 13
year ol’ prodigal, name uh Kareem Jefferson. Ges mah daddy
taught ah’d be big; an ah started out dat way, but topped out at
6-4 macon me a guard, forward on a small team. Sum ware in dere
Page 261
day started callin’ me “Too Tall,” tinkin it be funny. Ah doan
mine. Mos’evabody got a goof street name.
Since you so nicely asked yeztruly jus’ happens to have a lis’ a
dem NBA playas rite here in mah pocket, ta pud Rucka Park in
terms yu maht unnerstan. So, please, allow me the honor of
readin’ the s*** right at ya. Awrite. We got Kareem Abdul-
fuggin-Jabbar, man; an ef yo younsta ass don’t recall him, try
it on one-on-one Kobe Bryant. Nah, no LeBron down here. The boy
afraid he be embarrassed. But, if I may presume to retain the
mufuggin’ flow, here’s some more for yo considration; Rafer
Alston, Kenny Anderson, Nate Archibald, Metta World Peace,
Sylvester Blye, Wilt Chamberlain, the original “Big Dipper,” may
he rest in peace, Julius "Dr. J" Erving, the man who invented
the game after Connie Hawkins wasn’ allow to till his ass was
fuddy, Kyrie Irving, Jumpin Jackie Jackson, Pee Wee Kirkland,
Earl the Goat Manigault, Charlie Scott, Stephon Marbury, Jamal
Mashburn, Earl Monroe, won a dem white boys Chris Mullin, we all
not be prejudice ova hyah,jus’ nok em on day ass a few times, to
see if he got da stuff ta git bak up, Mexicans too, but at 5-4
day got some disadvantageous condition, ya no, Satch Sanders,
Lance Stephenson, Sebastian Telfair, Jamaal Tinsley, Cal Ramsey,
Joe Hammond, and las’ but not da bullpiss leas’ Kemba Walker.
Page 262
See, these boys all went to the show fo da bread, yanowamean.
But, when day wanned to play da game an’ compete wid da bes’ dey
dun haul they ass rite ova hyah. Yazzuh, yeztruly is hyah to
tell ya dat dere’d be a longer lis’ if dey didn’t nix on sum o’
da bruthas fo havin’ sum kine adtude problem. Hehe. Me now, ah
doan give too fuks bout da scouts an dare papers no mo. Lahkly
neva did, but now ahm too ole to go to da show. So now ah give
em s*** fo a different reason. Day neva no whut to say wen ah
ask dem if yoo white guys always sit together. Day get all kines
a nervous an s***.
It sad dat sum dese adtude bruthas wanna pick up a few o da high
priced gigs, waddya gonna do, sleep in da mufuggin’ park. It
wurs fo dem dat way ova da backboard, cause when day ain’t
allowed to go to the show, sum tahms dey find thayself a habit.
All dat s*** be new to da white wurl ben hyah since da day o da
flud. Da kids ova on 128th set ol’ Chuckyy Hughes on far cos he
was sleepin’ on a park bench stinkin’ lahk he ain’t neva ben
wash an hi as a Jap buildin’. Taut he was a bum. Musta hurt
special bad cos Chuckyy always luv the kids an wen he was rite
yoose ta give em free autographs, tellin’ em day’d be wurt
sumpthin someday. Hope he neva woke up. Sum sad ass s***, man.
Page 263
Ah, fuck, man; can’t leave it dere. Listen. Sometimes you white
boys are funnier dan a cacaroach stuk in sum melted chocolate
peanut butter cup. Won year yezreuly be teemed up with dis big,
wide dude. Gronsky, Plonski, o sum s***. Jew, polack, wudeva.
Could’t jump ova a fuggin’ curb. Nowumean. But, the fat ass
f***a cood push lahk a nigga whut gotta pay de man, lahk pronto.
So, ahm shootin’ too free throws, and he’s on da line lookin’ fo
position. On ma second won fat ass steps ova da line befo ah
shoot it. Fuggin’ ting goes in, but da ref say no good cos
fatso’s lane violation. I really wasn’t pissed cos ah new whut
he be tran to do, but figured ah’d have some fun. Ah said; “Da
fuk yu doin’?” Very serious he toll me whut ah already new and
say; “I was trying to get position to get the rebound.” Ah said;
“Hey, man. Yu ain’t lurned yet? Thay ain’t no rebound wen ah
shoot a free throw.” “He started babblin’ sum serious ass shit
bout math and ah tink he ain’t stopped yet.”
An ef yo eyeballs still attached to yo hed, yu maht jus’ spy on
sum o dem fahn ladies sittin’ in da bleachers. Sum bitches,
ho’s, and baby mamas, too, but affa yu be hyah a while you can
pik em out. We preesh ee ate dem fahn ladies as dere whut make
it all worthwhile. Day doan be talkin’ bout no Jacksons, less it
be Jumpin’ Jackie. Day jus’ be con cerned bout a man who play it
Leibowitz Concludes
Page 264
fo real; blak, brown, white, yellow, and red no mata; jus’ no
green.
Piece.
Pizza Lover
Leibowitz Concludes
Page 265
When I was little, mom used to take me with her when she
did her shopping on Broadway. She’d usually get me a charlotte
reuse at the place on 21st Street. But, the charlotte reuse
place closed up and in a few weeks Bayonne’s first pizza place
opened there. I had some trepidation at first about this new
thing. But, I guess out of hunger one day I decided to try a
slice. Man, it was the greatest thing I’d ever eaten, and it
became a regular thing.
Okay, I realize that some of you jaded young sophisticates
are sitting there thinking; “Who cares about this culturally
deprived fossil’s big deal with pizza? All you have to do is
call Domino’s and in ten minutes a pie will be delivered to your
door. And what does pizza have to do with Bayonne anyway?”
I’d like to assure the jaded sophisticates that I think I
understand their point of view; and would like to tell them; “I
don’t care. If you don’t like it you can get your big nose out
of my book and go write your own, and I don’t even give one of
Page 266
those wet raspberries about you. Kiss my grits in Amazon’s
window ....... “
Please excuse me. It’s morning and the meds may not have
kicked in yet. What I was trying to lead up to is the universal
belief that there is no such thing as bad pizza. That is just
plain wrong. No equivocations. No if’s, and’s or but’s. Wrong.
Wrong. Period. Fuggetaboudit. End of sentence. Case closed.
Admittedly it took me some time to figure this out; but
after having come to a conclusion which now seems obvious, I’d
have to respectfully say that anyone who believes that myth must
not have eaten a whole lot of pizza.
Perhaps the story of my discovery day will illustrate this.
I was at a party, and like every party, the attendees were all
being merry and jovial; you know all that stuff you fake and the
blessed one day find an acquired taste for. You can’t say
anything negative without being called a party pooper. So you
kind of stand there and say stuff like; “Hey bro,” “Lookin’
good,” “How’s it hangin’”, “Wild,” (That’s best used at parties
with a jazz theme.) and pretend that the Subhumans’ blasting top
1,000,000 hit “Slave to My Dick” is the greatest thing anyone
ever heard. The grinning hostess approaches you with a gift of a
slice of pizza. You’re not particularly hungry, but not wanting
to be a downer, you take the slice and thank her. She doesn’t
wait around and goes away offering slices to some other people.
Page 267
The first thing you notice of your pizza is that the thing
doesn’t bend and shows signs of terminal crusting. It’s in your
hand with all of the elasticity of a horticultural tool and you
think about wanting to keep the rest of your front teeth. Its
shape is consistent with that same tool, and its rounded head
appears as if someone may have taken a tentative gentle bite
before returning it to its place. You muse that this round-
headed pizza may ostensibly still be capable of flesh
penetration, but of more significance, it has an uncanny
similarity to that archaic gardening tool invented by the
Greeks, the use of which necessitated kneeling or bending over,
since replaced by the use of a simple hoe. On top of the un-
aesthetic nature of the thingy, if you’re as dumb as I was and
get it anywhere near your nose it smells like someone had their
dirty ass on it.
In all fairness, I’d like to point out that this isn’t
always the fault of the pizza. Most of the time it’s been
sitting on the table with the other overlooked slices, and
they’ve been re-heated five or six times in the last hour.
However, that doesn’t change the fact that you have a bit of a
problem. The first time I was in this situation my first thought
was to try to sneak it into a garbage can when no one was
looking. That’s not easy at some parties as it’s difficult to
get any privacy, and even if you did someone would likely see it
Page 268
later and yell out; “Hey, what asshole is throwing the pizza in
the gobbidge?” and everything would come out, resulting in you
being called a party pooper and go uninvited to the next joyous
affair. So, in my case I decided to “groove” to the Subhumans
and nonchalantly dance my way over to the table which held the
other slices and put it back there when no one was looking. I
mean people at these parties aren’t counting, and may not even
know six from seven slices to begin with. It worked.
A word to the wise is sufficient.
A sense of morality soon overcame me, and I thought it
might be incumbent upon me to tell my best friends; “Hey, don’t
mess with that bad pizza.” Maybe I should have said something,
but ultimately decided that I didn’t want to risk that party
pooper charge, and quite frankly came to find it singularly
funny when one of them did eat it.
I finally settled into a calm mental position, wherein I
thought; “It’s not my job to tell anyone what to do, and if you
want to eat hard, crusty-ass pizza go ahead. I’d like to at
least recommend watching out for the stiff end; but when you
come right down to it I really don’t care.”
Those still here may still be wondering what this has to do
with Bayonne as pizza was not invented there. Well, I don’t know
and submit that the questioner may be missing the pizza point.
In addition, pizza may well have been invented in Bayonne. Who
Page 269
can surely say? Maybe the Italians kept the good stuff to
themselves for a while before publicly putting it out on 21st
Street at a price.
In closing to you modern sophisticates, up until the age of
about 18, whenever I wanted some good pizza, I had to
archaically haul my ass up to 21st Street. Your improvements are
admirable, but “I’ll try my best to muddle on through without
you and your Domino’s.” Capish?
Social Worker’s Significant Other
I often have said that real life gives me more laughs than Chris
Rock. Here's an example. My significant other is a social worker
who is working from home today. Phone rings.
“Hello, is this Mr. X?"
“ ...... “
"I'm DD, a social worker."
“ ..... “
"I called earlier because Mr. Y said that you wanted to take
semi-clothed pictures of him in the bathroom."
“ .................... “
"Aha. That's why I called. We're doing an investigation and we
want to hear all sides of the story."
“ ..................... “
Page 270
"In the course of your work, do you spend time with Mr. Y in the
bathroom?"
“ .......................................... “
"So, it's not possible for you to totally avoid being in the
bathroom when Mr. Y is there?"
“ ................. “
"Do you have any idea why Mr. Y might have made up the story
about the photo request?"
“ ............... “
"Well, law enforcement has no record of Mr. Y being charged as a
sex offender."
“ .............. “
"OK. As I said, we're just investigating and want to hear from
all sides."
“ ................. “
“Approximately how much time per day does Mr. Y spend naked in
the bathroom?”
“ ............ “
“Doesn’t anyone complain?”
“ ................ “
“I see. So, you’re just trying to provide the photographic
evidence.”
“ .................. “
“No erotic intent?”
Page 271
“ .............. “
"No, to my knowledge Mr. Z has not yet made any allegations."
"........................ "
"Thank you. Goodbye."
Of course, I was cracking up, but DD remained cooly
professional, as she found this nonsense to be routine after a
few decades of it. I’m not certain, but I don’t think I’m
supposed to laugh.
God
God, the name presumptuously used here is not one to which I
relate, other than it being the most common name hominids assign
me; a sort of recognition of my un-wanted name, in deference to
popular opinion. For the sake of the commonly consequent wrong
notion of simplicity I have herein identified myself as such.
Take or don’t take whatever meaning from it you’d like.
I have no job per se, and I confess to never even having wanted
one, despite what may have been fatuously, childishly, and most
of all, in terms of one truly being one with whom the evaluator
has had no experience, personal or meta, insofar as anything
transduced to erroneously appear as a meta annotation, the
dichotomy much to obvious too address in the eyes of the
Page 272
unidentified writer, the seemingly somewhat consensuality more a
function of monotony, thereby also the tribally and victimized
advocates of meta brag and skin displayed appearance, those as
to having retained the hominidly-thought diversion or in-
consequentially not seemingly expressive, that accidentally
construed by some as a manifestation, a manifestation of
something indequately described and depicted as a meme; that
meme or reptilian replicant “logically” and thereby also
severely incorrect in the contrived assertion, that assertion
deduced from either their inattention or their mechanically
imperfect perception of my having the willingness to embrace
just one, that a suggestion of a primordial requisite too, as
all too mutually self-servingly imposed, though lacking in
completion, and choosing to be convinced by something other than
that; that being transitionally best represented through a few
tempting promises of omnipotent largesse purported by a
sumbitch, as might be differentiated from a sunbitch, in the
customary, standardized scam introduction, the latter notion
personally optional and thereby inherently value-judgemental as
seen, not seen, or glimpsed in the most blasé of fashions by the
observer.
Inexactitudes aside and the exhaustive and exhausting future
subject of those pencil-necked derivative analysts, that on the
Page 273
other hand I would like to say on this site, with as many
valuable visits and likes attendant thereto in an apparent state
of semi-permanent absentia, a stasis calculated as such; that I
too, in excersise of my own free will, that attribute as having
been said to have been granted by a source as yet un-named and
un-identified to both you and me, as distinguished nd
differentiated in standardized hominid parlance, have been
somehow granted to said hominids, in their continued or
discontinued search, inexorably inconsistent in that, yet
predictably directionally proportionatal to time elapsed,
initially remote propinquity endemic to the world of forms.
So as not to be further misunderstood and tediously questioned,
I want to be clear on this site which boasts as many viewings
and likes as Daniel 9:27 which states; “He will confirm a
covenant with many for one ‘seven.’ In the middle of the ‘seven’
he will put an end to sacrifice and offering. And at the temple
he will set up an abomination that causes desolation, until the
end that is decreed is poured out on him.”
That end will arrive at 12PM Easrern Standard time Sunday next.
You may say that is cruel of me; indeed history strongly
suggests that you will, but it is not my doing, rather it is the
ability to do which you have conveniently chosen to burden me
Page 274
with when it is your choice, and you require a scapegoat for it.
You see, it is merely my simple, logical extrapolation of the
results of a chain of events you have brought about yourselves.
As you may have noted were you paying any attention, I have and
desire no job, inclusive of Sunday next’s task. I am not blind.
You have willed this, most easily detected in your fascination
with apocalyptic forms of “entertainment.” Here is your dream.
How does it feel?
That was rhetorical. Please don’t tell me.
You ask me if I care. I don’t know. I never thought about that
as it doesn’t matter. Most likely don’t. This is your will and
it will therefore be done. Ask yourself. You hominids are not
any fun to speak with, and consequently I have chosen not to. I,
too have the free will you have claimed in my name. When I did
speak with you I was inundated with criticisms and questions
regarding anything you perceived as being unfair, under the
guise that I was supposed to be perfect; another trait you
conveniently assigned to me, which I never claimed, and actually
doesn’t make any conceptual sense if you think about it a few
seconds. When I did entertain some verbal grievances, you then
followed that with 100 page mathematical treatises which you
expected me to waste my time reading and ostensibly refute, like
Page 275
a cranky ass PhD professor with no other interests; some of them
including lettering used in the s***hole countries. Really. Who
do you think you are?
Rhetorical again.
I didn’t make this shit. I woke up one day and it was already
here. Though never properly introduced, at some point you
incorrectly started to refer to me as God, Jahweh, Jehovah,
Allah, Krishna, Brahma, Vishnu, Elohim, Tetragrammaton, Ehyeh,
Yahweh, and some other names unfamiliar to most white people. I
couldn’t remember all that crap, yet hominids would call out any
of a hundred names, and I initially wanted to be polite and
respond, but you might well imagine how that drove me crazy. If
you want to know, my real name is actually Herbert. But, since
God was the easiest and most prevalent one you used, I adopted
that street name in consideration of your ADD and my desire for
simplistic disinterest, likely the same thing.
So try to see the bigger picture from my point of view. Here was
little me and I could view the beauty of the entire Milky Way at
any time, like a billion billion billion Van Gogh’s sitting
there just for me, and yet I’m being distracted by the loud
impertinence of this one little dot in it, whose cacophony is
Page 276
only exceeded by its irrelevance. If I had any brains I’d just
have picked up some damn earplugs. Whatever.
If we could go back in time and kill all the technologists
responsible for nuclear energy, unprovable quantum wastes of
time, (The fucking wave function collapsed, they couldn’t find
the particle their retarded math insisted was in existence, and
who fucking cares anyway?) and an artificial intelligence they
made saying it would possibly kill all hominids shortly before
they could inflict their disease on everything which allegedly
lives, wouldn't “humanity” be better off for their demise? I'd
suspect that the Japanese would certainly agree. The despised
military industrial complex and a few more diseased
technologists would be the only ‘losers.’ Regarding artificial
intelligence, some time still remains, but had they the time, it
would have been squandered through a ‘credentialed’ debate, as
in the hideously predictable Brexit farce from all directions,
the ‘credentialed’ purchased by one world fantasists in
competition or co-operation only with the military industrial
complex. This is unemotionally stated in recognition of 100%
repetitive fact. I’m truly doing my best to conjure up some
likeable tears, but stumble over simple thoughts as to why it
matters.
Page 277
My 20-20 hindsight has finally been supplemented by the will of
the microscopic, even less relevant dots which for a few more
tedious and shrill days will inhabit their irrelevant dot. Not
too bad. I think I’ll be able to tough it out.
Hey, look. I’m not a bad guy. That’s what you all say of
yourselves, so I might be afforded the same “honor.” But enough
is enough. You know what I mean. And again, it’s your wishes and
doing, not necessarily mine. Could I change it? Maybe, maybe
not. No doubt if possible it would take a lot of effort, and I
really don’t care all that much. You rude bastards were always
looking for the point, asking tons of stupid questions about it.
Now you’ll get your wish. At 12PM EST Sunday next, you’ll all
congeal into one point suitable for a very old microchip, or
even a floppy disk. Hehehe. Tough doo doo, loudmouths.
Bye, bye. I shall soon commune amicably and exclusively with
nature. Fry fuckers. It is just too cool.
We Lucky Survivors; We Pet Companions
The “fortunate” we are still here. The ability to write
these inadequate words is undeniable proof of that. Though we
can’t help but wish that our friend’s demise was that of our
own, that seems not to be our choice. That pain of their loss
Page 278
never ends; the weight much more of a burden than the sack of
belongings and secrets we have chosen to carry. Negate, negate.
That thought is entirely selfish. If simultaneous death cannot
be achieved, it is inevitable that one will have to try to carry
on without the company of the other.
Since our births were not parlell, though their order
related and seemingly concurrent, that concurrence is not
measurable by any known sand filled hourglass, and it seems
totally irrational to expect that our deaths will be any
different. That’s the playing field.
It is a joy, sometimes grudging, and sometimes jokingly so,
to be there to try to fulfill the other’s needs; too often
failing, but nonetheless our efforts appreciated by a kind-
hearted other. They cutely nudge us, seeking our efforts
whenever they have a problem.
And then that joy is taken away from we, the lucky ones,
forever.
First we feel cheated, yet that is quickly confused by the
common perception that we have “won” by living; required
condolences adequately proffered and suffered. A series of
mindsets circle and circle, until we settle upon the one which
recognizes that through our living, we were always able to be
there for our friend, who has probably taken that benefit
Leibowitz Concludes
Page 279
innocently for granted up until now, as they never imagined
having to carry on without us.
The quiet becomes venomous, and the sand waits at the
withered isthmus flanked by the identical cut-glass bulbs.
But that’s okay. The sand is merely shy, and will again
move when you stop scrutinizing it. It’s only a short time until
we’ll meet again with no such dualities. It’s Rainbow Bridge. I
know it’s real, as I’ve seen so many pictures of the place. It’s
not very likely that millions would have the same “delusion.”
Leibowitz Concludes
Page 280
Page 281
2nd Management Memo
To: Programming employees and program hosts
From: Senior Management
Subject: Programming Plan submitted for June
While we here at senior management would first like to go on
record as commending your continued market entertainment thrust,
your June plan has raised a few, perhaps errant eyeballs. While
it is well duplicative of our successful anti-Rumpole-whatever-
he-tweets business model, a few of us have become concerned
concerning your June plans.
While we consider it systematically consistent with our business
plan, for which we again commend all of you, to schedule a month
with discussions of Bailey Post Rumpole’s real, implied, and
conjured racism, we feel that it is not necessary, and possibly
counter-productive, to schedule all white outraged guests and
commentators regarding an ostensibly colored phenomenon.
Borderline viewers might conclude that such people may have
input of some value, resulting in misplaced feelings of
“exclusionary” tactics, and worse the loss of some of our
otherwise morally well-informed viewers, a decline in the
Page 282
Nielsens, and an ultimate decline in the sheckels we all have
become accustomed to loving.
This may be confusing in the entertainment vs. credibility
conundrum, for those still somewhat trapped. While it is of
utmost importance to schedule banal discussions of what our
well-educated audience has expressed a strong preference for,
with no regard to credibility, we also feel that while said
credibility, insofar as that concept can be ill-defined in a
financially working format, is not necessary to be abandoned at
all times, especially when we can contract with guests and
commentators of color at lower rates than that commanded by
white experts on racism.
In that vein, we strongly suggest the inclusion of a few black
people, a brownie or two, and perhaps even, at least one buttery
one with that straight black hair perfect for a re-do in our
“Conked by Tristame for North Koreans” ads. The latter
suggestion is “on a best efforts basis,” and should not be
considered mandatory until the slants take a break from their
clandestine, intrusively designed algorithms, and make their
presence known in a forthright manner detectable by our
actuaries. You may have noted that we did not mention reds, and
Page 283
by mentioning that assure you that we are cognizant of that non-
mention.
At your earliest convenience, if you were unaware that politely
means “get off your big fat ass and get moving right now,”
please make the suggested adjustments and report same back here.
Thank you for your kind attention to this matter.
P.S. For your help senior management has herein included an MP3
url leading to the late Big Pun doing his platinum “That Nigga
S***,” parts of which we suggest playing during segues into
commercials; we think the “no love for the cops” part an
especially catchy line.
R.I.P Brother Big Pun.
Leibowitz Concludes
Page 284
Leibowitz Concludes
Page 285
Leibowitz Concludes
Page 286
Projects and “That Nigga Shit” by Anthony Best; property of the author, the latter under both the
“fair use” and “transformative” doctrines.
Leibowitz Concludes
Page 287
**11**
Less Fantastical Continued
Leibowitz Concludes
Page 288
This is what Mark chose not to see; Irgun (continued.)
Underground exiles
The British began expelling hundreds of arrested Irgun and Lehi
members to detention camps in Africa. 251 detainees from Latrun
were flown on thirteen planes, on October 19 to a camp in
Asmara, Eritrea. Eleven additional transports were made. While
there were numerous successful escapes from the camp itself,
only nine men actually made it all the way back. One noted
success was that of Yaakov Meridor, who escaped nine times
before finally reaching Europe in April 1948.
Hunting Season
Leibowitz Concludes
Page 289
On November 6, 1944, Lord Moyne, British Deputy Resident
Minister of State in Cairo was assassinated by Lehi members.
This apparently sparked the Jewish Agency, a customarily
moderate force, to “start” a Hunting Season.
The Irgun's recuperation was noticeable when it began to renew
its cooperation with the Lehi in May 1945, and sabotaged oil
pipelines, telephone lines and railroad bridges. There was even
talk of cooperation with the Haganah leading to the formation of
the Jewish Resistance Movement.
The Jewish Resistance Movement
The King David Hotel after the bombing; public domain.
Page 290
Jewish hopes of a new British attitude toward their Palestinian
pursuits by a new government, were dashed by a continuation or
even a stepping up of the old policies, giving rise to the
formation of the Jewish Resistance Movement. This body
consolidated the armed resistance to the British of the Irgun,
Lehi, and Haganah. For ten months the Irgun and the Lehi co-
operated and they carried out nineteen attacks and defense
operations. The Haganah and Palmach 9elite fighting force of the
Haganah) carried out ten such operations. The Haganah also
assisted in landing 13,000 illegal immigrants.
The King David Hotel bombing (a 1946 terrorist attack carried
out by the Irgun in which 91 people of various nationalities were killed, and 46 were injured) and the arrest of Jewish
Agency and other Yishuv leaders caused the Haganah to cease
their armed activity against the British. Yishuv and Jewish
Agency leaders were released from prison. From then until the
end of the British mandate, resistance activities were led by
the Irgun and Lehi. In early September 1946 the Irgun renewed
its attacks against civil structures, railroads, communication
lines and bridges.
Leibowitz Concludes
Page 291
Leibowitz Concludes
Page 292
On October 31, 1946, in response to the British barring entry of
Jews from Palestine, the Irgun blew up the British Embassy in
Rome, a center of British efforts to monitor and stop Jewish
immigration. The Irgun also carried out a few other operations
in Europe. In December, 1946 a sentence of 18 years and 18
beatings was handed down to a young Irgun member for robbing a
bank, a frequent Irgun source of funding. The Irgun made good on
a threat and after the detainee was whipped, Irgun members
kidnapped British officers and beat them in public. The
operation, known as the "Night of the Beatings" brought an end
to British punitive beatings. The British, taking these acts
seriously, moved many British families in Palestine into the
confines of military bases, and some moved home.
Arab bus after a 1947 bomb attack; modified public domain.
The Irgun stepped up its activity and from February 19 until
March 3 it attacked 18 British military camps, convoy routes,
Page 293
vehicles, and other facilities. Begin described Irgun news
issued as turning Palestine into a "glass house." The Irgun also
re-established many representative offices internationally, and
by 1948 operated in 23 states.
After “The Sergeant’s Affair,” the Irgun public hanging of two
British military men, the United Nations Special Committee on
Palestine’s (UNSCOP) conclusion was a unanimous decision to end
the British mandate, and a majority decision to divide Mandatory
Palestine (the land west of the Jordan River) between a Jewish
state and an Arab state. During the UN's deliberations regarding
the committee's recommendations the Irgun avoided initiating any
attacks, so as not to influence the UN negatively on the idea of
a Jewish state. On November 29 the UN General Assembly voted in
favor of ending the mandate and establishing two states on the land. That very same day the Irgun and the Lehi renewed their
attacks. The next day the local Arabs began attacking the Jewish
community, thus beginning the first stage of the 1948 Palestine
Things quickly escalated. In the autumn of 1947, the Irgun had
approximately 4,000 members. The goal of the organization at
that point was the conquest of the land between the Jordan River
and the Mediterranean Sea for the future Jewish state, and
Page 294
preventing Arab forces from driving out the Jewish community.
The Irgun became almost an overt organization, establishing
military bases and openly recruiting, thus significantly
increasing in size. The Irgun fought alongside the Lehi and the
Haganah in the front against the Arab attacks. At first the
Haganah maintained a defensive policy, as it had until then, but
after the Convoy of 35 incident it completely abandoned its policy of restraint, saying; "Distinguishing between individuals
is no longer possible, for now it is a war, and even the
innocent shall not be absolved."
The Convoy of 35 was a convoy of Haganah fighters sent during
the war on a mission to reach by foot and resupply the blockaded
kibbutzim of Gush Etzion, after earlier motorized convoys had
been attacked. They were spotted before they could reach their
target and killed in a prolonged battle by Arab irregulars and local villagers.
The Irgun also began carrying out “reprisal” missions, though by
this time that reprisal concept was confusing as it became
increasingly unclear as to who was wrongfully attacked and who
was “rightfully” seeking retribution, compounded by being in an
admitted war situation. Nonetheless Irgun published
announcements calling on the Arabs to lay down their weapons and
Page 295
maintain a ceasefire. This is one of them. “The National
Military Organization has warned you, if the murderous attacks
on Jewish civilians shall continue, its soldiers will penetrate
your centers of activity and plague you. You have not heeded the
warning. You continued to harm our brothers and murder them in
wild cruelty. Therefore soldiers of the National Military
Organization will go on the attack, as we have warned you. ...
However even in these frenzied times, when Arab and Jewish blood
is spilled by the British enslaver, we hereby call upon you ...
to stop the attacks and create peace between us. We do not want
a war with you. We are certain that neither do you want a war
with us.”
However the mutual attacks continued. There were many with death
totals up to 60. But, topping them all was the Deir Yassin
Massacre. Some say that this incident was an event that
accelerated the Arab exodus from Palestine.
The Deir Yassin massacre was carried out in a village west of Jerusalem that had signed a non-belligerency pact with its
Jewish neighbors and the Haganah, and repeatedly had barred
entry to foreign irregulars. On April 9 approximately 120 Irgun
and Lehi members began an operation to capture the village.
During the operation, the villagers fiercely resisted the
Page 296
attack, and a battle broke out. In the end, the Irgun and Lehi
forces advanced gradually through house-to-house fighting. The
village was only taken after the Irgun began systematically
dynamiting houses, and after a Palmach unit intervened and
employed mortar fire to silence the villagers' sniper positions.
The operation resulted in five Jewish fighters dead and 40
injured. Officially, some 100 to 120 villagers were also killed;
while Lehi estimated as many as 257. There are allegations that
Irgun and Lehi forces committed war crimes during and after the
capture of the village. These allegations include reports that
fleeing individuals and families were fired at, and prisoners of
war were killed after their capture. A Haganah report wrote;
“The conquest of the village was carried out with great cruelty.
Whole families – women, old people, children – were killed. ...
Some of the prisoners moved to places of detention, including
women and children, were murdered viciously by their captors.”
The Irgun acted independently in the conquest of Jaffa, part of
the proposed Arab State according to the UN Partition Plan. On
April 25 Irgun units, about 600 strong, left the Irgun base in
Ramat Gan and moved toward Arab Jaffa. Difficult battles ensued, and the Irgun faced resistance from the Arabs as well as the
British. They captured the neighborhood of Manshiya, which
threatened the city of Tel Aviv. Afterwards the force continued
Page 297
to the sea, towards the area of the port, and using mortars,
shelled the southern neighborhoods.
In his report concerning the fall of Jaffa the local Arab
military commander, Michel Issa, wrote; "Continuous shelling
with mortars of the city by Jews for four days, beginning April
25th, [...] caused inhabitants of city, unaccustomed to such
bombardment, to panic and flee." According to Morris the
shelling was done by the Irgun. Their objective was "to prevent
constant military traffic in the city, to break the spirit of
the enemy troops and to cause chaos among the civilian
population in order to create a mass flight." High Commissioner
Cunningham wrote a few days later "It should be made clear that
IZL’s attack with mortars was indiscriminate and designed to
create panic among the civilian inhabitants." The British
demanded the evacuation of the newly conquered city, and
militarily intervened, ending the Irgun offensive. Heavy British
shelling against Irgun positions in Jaffa failed to dislodge
them, and when British armor pushed into the city, the Irgun
resisted; a bazooka team managed to knock out one tank,
buildings were blown up and collapsed onto the streets as the
armor advanced, and Irgun men crawled up and tossed live
dynamite sticks onto the tanks. The British withdrew, and opened
negotiations with the Jewish authorities. An agreement was
Page 298
worked out, under which Operation Hametz would be stopped and
the Haganah would not attack Jaffa until the end of the Mandate.
The Irgun would evacuate Manshiya, with Haganah fighters
replacing them. British troops would patrol its southern end and
occupy the police fort. The Irgun had previously agreed with the
Haganah that British pressure would not lead to withdrawal from
Jaffa and that custody of captured areas would be turned over to
the Haganah. The city ultimately fell on May 13 after Haganah
forces entered the city and took control of the rest of the
city, from the south part of the Hametz Operation which included
the conquest of a number of villages in the area. The battles in
Jaffa were a great victory for the Irgun. This operation was the
largest in the history of the organization, which took place in
highly built up area that had many militants in shooting
positions. During the battles explosives were used in order to
break into homes and continue forging a way through them.
Furthermore, this was the first occasion in which the Irgun had
directly fought British forces, reinforced with armor and heavy
weaponry. The city began these battles with an Arab population
estimated at 70,000, which shrank to some 4,100 Arab residents
by the end of major hostilities. Since the Irgun captured the
neighborhood of Manshiya on its own, causing the flight of many
of Jaffa's residents, the Irgun took credit for the conquest of
Page 299
Jaffa. It had lost 42 dead and about 400 wounded during the
battle.
On May 14, 1948 the establishment of the State of Israel was proclaimed. The declaration of independence was followed by the
establishment of the Israel Defense Forces (IDF), and the process of absorbing all military organizations into the IDF
started. On June 1, an agreement had been signed between
Menachem Begin and Yisrael Galili for the absorption of the Irgun into the IDF. One of the clauses stated that the Irgun had
to stop smuggling arms. Meanwhile, in France, Irgun
representatives purchased a ship, renamed Altalena, a pseudonym
of Ze'ev Jabotinsky, and weapons. The ship sailed on June 11 and
arrived at the Israeli coast on June 20, during the first truce
of the 1948 Arab – Israeli War. Despite United Nations Security
Council Resolution 50 declared an arms embargo in the region, neither side respected it.
When the ship arrived the Israeli government, then headed by
David Ben-Gurion, was adamant in its demand that the Irgun
surrender and hand over all of the weapons. Ben-Gurion said: "We
must decide whether to hand over power to Begin or to order him
Page 300
to cease his activities. If he does not do so, we will open
fire! Otherwise, we must decide to disperse our own army."
There were two confrontations between the newly formed Israeli
Defense Force and the Irgun. When Altalena reached Kfar Vitkin
in the late afternoon of Sunday, June 20 many Irgun militants,
including Begin, waited on the shore. A clash with the
Fooeyandroni Brigade, commanded by Dan Even (Epstein), occurred.
Fighting ensued and there were a number of casualties on both
sides. The clash ended in a ceasefire and the transfer of the
weapons on shore to the local IDF commander, and with the ship,
now reinforced with local Irgun members, including Begin,
sailing to Tel Aviv, where the Irgun had more supporters. Many
Irgun members, who joined the IDF earlier that month, left their
bases and concentrated on the Tel Aviv beach. A confrontation
between them and the IDF units started. In response, Ben-Gurion
ordered Yigael Yadin (acting Chief of Staff) to concentrate large forces on the Tel Aviv beach and to take the ship by
force. Heavy guns were transferred to the area and at four in
the afternoon; Ben-Gurion ordered the shelling of the Altalena.
One of the shells hit the ship, which began to burn. Sixteen
Irgun fighters were killed in the confrontation with the army;
six were killed in the Kfar Vitkin area and ten on Tel Aviv
Leibowitz Concludes
Page 301
beach. Three IDF soldiers were killed; two at Kfar Vitkin and
one in Tel Aviv.
After the shelling of the Altalena, more than 200 Irgun fighters
were arrested. Most of them were freed several weeks later. The
Irgun militants were then fully integrated with the IDF and not
kept in separate units.
Altalena on fire; public domain.
The initial agreement for the integration of the Irgun into the
IDF did not include Jerusalem, where a small remnant of the
Irgun called the Jerusalem Battalion, numbering around 400
fighters, and Lehi, continued to operate independently of the
government. Following the assassination of UN Envoy for Peace
Folke Bernadotte by Lehi in September 1948, the Israeli government determined to immediately dismantle the underground
organizations. An ultimatum was issued to the Irgun to liquidate
itself and integrate into the IDF or be destroyed. The Irgun
Page 302
accepted the ultimatum, and shortly afterward, its fighters
began enlisting in the IDF and turning over their arms.
Irgun attacks prompted a formal declaration from the World
Zionist Congress in 1946, which strongly condemned "the shedding of innocent blood as a means of political warfare." The Israeli
government, in September 1948, acting in response to the
assassination of Count Folke Bernadotte, outlawed the Irgun and
Lehi groups, declaring them terrorist organizations under the Prevention of Terrorism Ordinance.
In 1948, “The New York Times” published a letter signed by a
number of prominent Jewish figures including Hannah Arendt,
Albert Einstein, Sidney Hook, and Rabbi Jessurun Cardozo, which
described Irgun as "a terrorist, right-wing, chauvinist
organization in Palestine". The letter went on to state that
Irgun and the Stern gang (Lehi) "inaugurated a reign of terror
in the Palestine Jewish community. Teachers were beaten up for
speaking against them, adults were shot for not letting their
children join them. By gangster methods, beatings, window-
smashing, and widespread robberies, the terrorists intimidated
the population and exacted a heavy tribute."
Page 303
Soon after World War II, Winston Churchill said "we should never
have stopped immigration before the war", but that the Irgun
were "the vilest gangsters" and that he would "never forgive the
Irgun terrorists."
A US military intelligence report, dated January 1948, described
Irgun recruiting tactics amongst Displaced Persons (DP) in the camps across Germany; “Irgun ... seems to be concentrating on
the DP police force. This is an old technique in Eastern Europe
and in all police states. By controlling the police, a small,
unscrupulous group of determined people can impose its will on a
peaceful and inarticulate majority; it is done by threats,
intimidation, by violence and if need be bloodshed ... they have
embarked upon a course of violence within the camps.”
Clare Hollingworth, the Daily Telegraph and The Scotsman
correspondent in Jerusalem during 1948 wrote several outspoken
reports after spending several weeks in West Jerusalem; “Irgun is in fact rapidly becoming the 'SS' of the new state. There is
also a strong 'Gestapo; but no-one knows who is in it. The
shopkeepers are afraid not so much of shells as of raids by
Irgun Zvai Leumi and the Stern Gang. These young toughs, who are
beyond whatever law there is have cleaned out most private
Page 304
houses of the richer classes and started to prey upon the
shopkeepers.”
In 2006, Simon McDonald, the British ambassador in Tel Aviv, and
John Jenkins, the Consul-General in Jerusalem, wrote in response
to a pro-Irgun commemoration of the King David Hotel bombing;
"We do not think that it is right for an act of terrorism, which
led to the loss of many lives, to be commemorated." They also
called for the removal of plaques at the site which presented as
a fact that the deaths were due to the British ignoring warning
calls. McDonald and Jenkins said that no such warning calls were
made, adding that even if they had, "this does not absolve those
who planted the bomb from responsibility for the deaths."
Ha'aretz columnist and Israeli historian Tom Segev wrote of the
Irgun; "In the second half of 1940, a few members of the Irgun
Zvai Leumi (National Military Organization); which was in the
process of evolving to “The Lehi Group,” often referred to as
“The Stern Gang,” all three, if any differentiation other than
name is required, were documentably known to be anti-British,
anti-Palestinian, and effectively anti-Jewish terrorist groups
sponsored by the Revisionists and known by its acronym Etzel,
and to the British simply as the Irgun, made contact with
representatives of Fascist Italy and Fascist Germany offering
Page 305
their “services” to cooperate with the fascists militarily or on
an espionage basis, well after the fascists’ “Jewish Final
Solution” had been implemented."
Alan Dershowitz wrote in his book “The Case for Israel” that unlike the Haganah, the policy of the Irgun had been to
encourage the flight of local Arabs.
Page 306
**12**
Isaac at Work
Isaac neared the entrance to JP Morgan Chase Bank at 7AM.
He felt a few insistent tugs at the back of his pants. He turned
to see a cute little boy down there, who couldn’t have been more
than six years old. Not seeing any adults nearby, he was
concerned that the child had gotten lost. He knelt, and said;
“Little man, you shouldn’t be wandering around here alone.”
The kid said; “Are you Jewish?”
Surprised, Isaac got sidetracked, and replied; “No, but
most people think yes.”
It was the kid’s turn to get sidetracked, and after a
moment’s hesitation said; “Your nametag says Leibowitz.”
Yes, that’s my name, but it doesn’t mean I’m Jewish.”
The little boy seemed more annoyed than sidetracked this
time and said; “Whatever. My mom told me to say f*** you, kikey
half-dick.”
The kid turned and left, as did Issac, though the latter
inaudibly mumbled; “goyische amoretz,” through his laugh.
Page 307
Isaac continued on, and got to his cubby much earlier than
usual. He had even beaten his boss, John Fitzpatrick, Executive
Vice President in charge of Loan Management and Approval. This
was no mean feat, as “Fitz,” which a select few were ostensibly
allowed to call him, was notorious for being there before
everyone and being the last to leave. It was a mistake, as Isaac
had to make the coffee, and not previously having had the
experience, fumbled around with the decanter like a freshman
high school running back, and added entropy to the endeavor with
the grounds. He considered hiding in the men’s room with one
copy of the day’s “Wall Street Journal,” until someone else did
it, but always got fleeting restrictive evacuational typology
syndrome, aptly and mercifully acronymmed FRETS, when stalled
with only an unbending paper in a cold metal ampoule. Isaac
decided that it was best to tough the carafe and its attendant
accoutrements out and eventually sat in his shoulder height
cubicle of seemingly knitted gray fabric with his full hot mug,
which joked in large letters; “Today is the first day of the
rest of your life,” before adding in the easily overlooked fine
print; “Given that, you might well consider adjusting your level
of optimism concerning tomorrow.”
Fitz and his staff of fifteen Assistant Vice Presidents,
Vice Presidents, and Senior Vice Presidents were the primary
focus of the Board of Directors for everything JP Morgan Chase
Page 308
Bank did, excepting retail, and even that had a way of blurring
itself into Fitz domain if more than ten million was at stake.
How he got this job, Isaac didn’t know, and not having been
there when Fitz got it, and not having been privy to the private
conversations which were undoubtedly held prior to the
coronation, he could never be 100% sure.
He thought that he had gotten a strong hint, though. After
all, he had been there a year now, and in that amount of time,
if one pays a little attention, present circumstances, as a
function of past possibilities, form an increasingly consistent
pattern in the murky waters downstream, if not completely clear
in the rocky whitecaps up on top of it.
Fitz never wanted the job, though with small effort coupled
with laziness, he made himself the one most suitable for it. It
is difficult for one to discern whether that was a mistake or a
successful ploy; the latter making use of a contrary human
dynamic in which when one says that they don’t want something,
everyone then proceeds to try to give it to them. He probably
understood that to be the case by now, inasmuch as one is able
to accurately analyze their own intentions.
In a way, it wasn’t all that much of a tribute, as Fitz
dominion reigned over the true commercial bank. JP Morgan Chase
was both a commercial and investment bank, the commercial
portion deriving the bulk of its income from making “safe”
Page 309
loans; as opposed to the investment bank, which took riskier and
potentially more lucrative equity positions. The employees who
excel at a commercial bank almost always transfer their skills
and money-spinning potential to an investment bank early on.
So, in a sense, Fitz was “competing” with other second-
rates, other lazies, jerks, two of the prior, or all three. This
didn’t bother him, as he saw commercial valuations and
evaluations highly arbitrary, strongly tending toward that which
was redundant, thereby extolling duplication and triplication at
the expense of innovation. His perceived as fatal flaws, which
the tigers on the Board seized upon was his diligence and
susceptibility to flattery. “Oh, yeah, Fitz. You have to take
this position. No one else can do it half as well. Baby, it’s
you.” usually provided the motivation they sought to inflame
Fitz with, or maybe Fitz just made them think so, so that he’d
not have to be bothered by having to figure out the next game
played. It may not be over-stressed that Fitz was quite a
languid fellow at heart.
Regarding the specific situation, he also knew that if he
refused to take the lousy job, whoever did would proceed to do
all they could to make his life miserable. So, he did the best
he could under the circumstances, and negotiated a 75% pay
increase, bonus situation, and stock options; the forfeiture of
any of the three subject to hefty fines. He got it in writing.
Page 310
The effect on Fitz was curious in a way, but maybe not so
curious, as after having collected the benefits of this
corporate largesse for a few years, he no longer needed the job
at all on a financial basis, which resulted in him becoming even
more lackadaisical toward it, which he implemented through heavy
delegation and the realization that his “superiors” had no
empirical way to gauge his performance; and that in that
situation managers focus on what they can readily determine; the
time one comes in and the time one leaves, and whether or not
one has done something which could draw attention from the EEOC.
These small impositions were two Fitz considered worth
tolerating, as long as his share of the coin of the realm
continued to accumulate.
This only mattered to Isaac insofar as it might potentially
benefit his little day. The result was that Isaac did the bulk
of Fitz’ work; which was writing lengthy “analyses” used in the
approval and declension of large loans, Isaac specializing in
the latter to the point of near monopoly, doing it just the way
Fitz gave strong hints that he wanted it. Isaac’s “morality” and
independence were not much compromised, as he usually agreed
with Fitz’ assessments, and when he didn’t it was a close call,
for which he deferred to quoting from one of the three
contradictory operating manuals.
Page 311
Fitz regularly held impromptu departmental meetings. He was
always deluged with loan proposals already approved by eager
department managers seeking to “grow” their portfolios and year-
end bonuses; just needing Fitz’ authorization in most cases.
The largest items eventually went to the Credit Committee
if Fitz signed off on them Fitz making the presentations. The
committee consisted of nine codger Executive Vice Presidents in
charge of something yet to be determined, appointed to that
enviable position by the board in return for having directed
business the bank’s way in years prior. Five of them wouldn’t
know a statement of financial condition from their monthly
utility bill, and spent most of the meetings looking for a lead-
in to one of their old stories of when they met celebrities, the
stature of Lee Iacoca. The other four had some difficulty with
staying awake, thereby cleverly masking their statement
differentiation abilities. But, these guys were the most
difficult for Fitz to handle, as every once in a while one of
them would come up with a pithy, relevant, cavil observation
regarding something on the approval document Fitz had supplied.
The most difficult time Fitz had was when 85 year old
Wilthrop Barrington Pemberwell III, Bumper to family, close
associates, and other members emeritus of Beta Theta Pi or Kappa
Alpha Theta, whichever he thought he may have once belonged to
that particular day said; “What do you mean by ‘Dang
Page 312
manufacturer.’ That’s like saying ‘darn manufacturer.’ What on
earth is a dang?” Well, dang was really meant to be dong, and
Ben Madrox inattention to the detail put Fitz in an embarrassing
situation, as not only did he have to admit error, but he also
had to explain to Bumper and the rest what a dong is.
Rubdong, International, Inc., had manufacturing facilities
based in Guangzhau, China; with a headquarters in whatever
country required the least income taxes at the moment, as
determined by their website address; had acquired a market
monopoly through Rubdong efficient coolie wages, regionalized
and undocumented Guangzhau cancers and breathing problems,
rotating ozone holes, and the inducement of a comforting haze
which Guangzhauians welcomed as a respite from the direct rays
of the infernal sun.
In other words, things were good in Guangzhau and things
were good for Rubdong. They sold dildos of various lengths,
widths, colors, and compositions to virtually every porn shop in
both known hemispheres, and were on the verge of increasing
profit margins by going direct-to-the-public on line. Why they
needed to borrow money at all was Fitz’ largest question, while
realizing that this was also the prime characteristic of the
most credit worthy borrowers. He just hoped that they would
stick with what they knew best, and not try to expand into the
Page 313
publishing of the market deluged “erotic” novellas and alleged
poetry.
Fitz had tried to tangent Bumper away from his dang dong
confusion through a hoary characterization of good old American
profit enabled by purchased good old foreign acquiescence. But
it was to no avail, as Bumper remained insistent on knowing what
a dong was, sputtering of some archaic need to understand a
business, prior to being able to prudently lend to it.
To modernized Fitz, Rubdong exemplified the epitome of the
perfect business; a currently un-regulated monopoly, a product
whose demand has already stood the test of time, a manufacturing
process able to color co-ordinate for both small and large
orders, a pollution residue based where no one cares of such
unprovable “hazards,” and the infliction of such, if any, on an
inferior race. Besides, Fitz was on the line for the 1% Rubdong
“finder’s fee,” the result of having taken the time, threat, and
sense to cause the originating loan officer to relinquish his
share. Not wanting to upset the elderly gent, Fitz swiftly
played around with his trouser zipper and the rubber eraser in
the table.
Bumper said; “Something to do with radical feminism? I
think I need another hint?”
Page 314
Fitz shook his head “no,” and silently made an arm gesture,
fingers closed, much like one does when words fail in the
presence of a dolt.
Bumper said; “They have to manufacture those now?”
Fitz grimaced and slowly shook his head “yes,” but also
shrugged in a manner which grayed the yes.
Bumpur said; “Well, goddammit, it’s either yes or no, man.”
Fitz had never previously received such a hard time from a
committee member, and was genuinely surprised. He considered
attempting to do a silent, spectrum based yes-no mime thing, but
realized that even if competently done, it might still be
confused with a pedophilic Officer Joe Bolton saying “Hi” to the
neighborhood kiddies. He deemed that risk one wise not to take.
However, he still needed something which bore a resemblance to