"You again! Your vacations don't last very long!"
Well, rabbi, I figure there's only one person who can defeat me. And that's me. Lucky for you I woke up in a good mood today. I'm back, to dote lovingly upon my audience even as they deny me my bouquet of flowers or even a ten-cent valentine from the Circle K.
Oh, rabbi, I've caused such a stir what with calling the Holocaust a fraud from top to bottom and all. What have I wrought?! I think what galls you the most isn't that I said it, but that I got away with saying it. You know you're dealing with the best when I can say whatever I might elect to say and not lose my audience. Why keep it a secret? Why insult my audience with displays of false modesty? I'll go ahead and say it: I'm the best. If stand-up is the sport of seeing what you can get away with saying, I guess that makes me the Tiger Woods of comedy, doesn't it? (Of course, it may be unseemly to say so, and it also means that I'll be buying the drinks for a great, long while when I pay homage to my boys in New York. It's a tightrope that I walk. I trust no one will begrudge me seizing that mantle. I need it to cover this material. So for the purposes of this discussion, rabbi, I need you to understand that you're dealing with the best. I can out-debate you half drunk.)
Remember that weapon that I said I could sense lying somewhere nearby? That magic weapon that would completely vanquish the satanic beasts who attacked my nation? It was the Shoah. It was there the whole time. A stinking, maggot-infested bucket of filth that I had to hold my nose merely to approach, much less brandish.
Oh, I know the allegations: I'm a Jew-hater. One may dismiss me out of hand on the grounds of my harboring an all-consuming hatred of Jews.
I'm a sporting man. I don't mind handicapping myself when engaging inferior minds. So I'll go ahead and confess to being a Jew-hater. You have my permission to use this quote as you may: "I, Christopher King, simply loath Jews. The Final Solution? I say we eat them!" My every word verily drips with Jew-hatred. I chose hate over love as an energy source. I chose a dunghill over a time-domain security apparatus. A belching jalopy with chicken bones on the floor over a whirring, futuristic electric car. So there you go: guilty as charged. What shall be my punishment?
Now that that's settled, what's next on the docket? Ah, yes, Uncle Shmuley et al. v. The Scholars. A delightful little horror show about how the rabbis regard the Holocaust as a good thing, a lopping off of a diseased limb, a cleansing of the sins of the am ha-aretz for rejecting the Talmud. A pagan human sacrifice to the egregore god known as Moloch so that Jerusalem might be defiled by satanists, practitioners of the Babylonian Mysteries.
But how could that possibly be, rabbi? Moloch is dead. Conceived in hate, he died in love. I sent him to a nonstruct region. Do you know what that is? No, it has nothing to do with cuckas or witches or even the hair of a white dog.
The meek shall inherit the earth. ...and they are about to. The Lesser Brethren are under my protection. They and I are going to bring to justice those who murdered them for some filthy, fratricidic, rabbinic purpose.
It's over, rabbi. I have in my possession the magic weapon. I'm just nonchalantly twirling around my finger a pretty little locket, one that contains your most precious treasure: the Holocaust. One big, fat fraud about how you fried those cows, the am ha-aretz, and then blamed it all on everyone else.
It's all falling apart, isn't it, rabbi? That's what you get when you build your house on sand. Because no one likes to be had. No one likes the town thief banging his funeral drum and showing up at every doorstep for a pat on the back and a there there. People don't like being lied to. You, rabbi, are a liar and a thief.
Israel is dead. You killed it. You killed it by founding it upon lies. There is leakage within the system. The truth always comes out. You killed that deformed monster baby of yours by suckling it on filth.
This religious war is over. Your nation attacked my nation. In response, I destroyed your nation. Turnabout is fair play.
Now kneel before me. Kneel before your King.
