Moisha’le’s New
Suit by Hans
Christian Underdog (Gilad Atzmon)
NOT THAT MANY years ago, at
the hub of the Kosher Palestinian solidarity cyber ghetto lived a Marxist
emperor named Moisha’le, who thought so much of new clothes for the progressive
cosmopolitan chosen people that he spent all his time in trying to obtain them;
his only ambition was to make his very people look as important and righteous as
he mistakenly believed himself to be. But in fact, he did not truly care for his
two and a half obedient Gefilte soldiers, and the Palestinian reality did not
bother him either. For instance, he believed that as far as the Palestinian
struggle is concerned, fighting anti-Semitism was a major priority. For him,
starvation in Gaza or the emerging involvement of Zionists in the American
imperial wars were something that one should not even bother to mention in any
significant way. For every event and occasion emperor Moisha’le had a ready-made
proletarian thought to offer. And as one would say of a king “He is in his
cabinet,” so one could say of him, “Moisha’le was well imbued is in his red
light kosher haven philosophy.”
The great city where he
resided was very gay as well as gray; everyday many strangers from all parts of
the globe arrived (mainly with Ryanair and some other budget air lines). One
day, two Zionist swindlers came to this city; so clever were they that they
managed to convince their tribal brothers that they were advanced thinkers. They
declared that they could manufacture the finest and ultimate liberal progressive
thought that would make the Kosher progressive anti-Zionist imposters look as
great as they foolishly believed themselves to be. Their ideological
revelations, they claimed, not only were exceptionally beautiful, but they also
possessed the wonderful quality of being visible only to men with reason and
clever people in general.
“That must be a wonderful
concept,” thought Moisha’le to himself. “If I were to be ideologically dressed
in a such an abstract ideology made by these progressive ideological wizards, I
should be able to find out which men in my shrinking empire were unfit for their
places, and I could distinguish between the ‘clever’ politically- correct
liberal progressive cosmopolitans and the stupid ordinary humanists who expose
Jewish power relentlessly, courageously and against all
odds.
“I must have this ideological
tool woven for me without delay.” And he gave a large sum of Matzah balls to the
Zionist swindlers, in advance, so that they should set to work without any loss
of time. Within a day, the swindlers set a powerful think tank in the heart of
the ghetto, and pretended to be very hard at work, but, in fact, they did
nothing whatsoever except eat their Matzah balls.
“I should very much like to
know how they are getting on with the project,” thought Moisha’le the
progressive emperor. But he felt rather uneasy when he posited that should he be
lacking in the cleverness he was convinced he had, he would never be able to
adopt the abstract progressive thought and the entire investment would go down
the drain.
“I shall send my No 1
dishonest old minister Mr. Tovy Greencard to these think tank wizards,” thought
the emperor. “He can judge best how the stuff looks, for he is a hyperactive
petty criminal with an astonishing record in intimidation and nobody understands
where he comes from at least as much as he doesn’t.”
The good old Tovy went into
the room where the Zio swindlers sat in front of their Intel powered Mac-Hover
laptops, presenting the new ideological thought that the emperor had elaborated.
“Heaven preserve us!” he thought, and opened his eyes wide, “I cannot see
anything at all,” but he did not say so. Both swindlers requested him to come
near to the computer screen to watch the 3D presentation, and asked him if he
did not admire the exquisite ideological cosmopolitan pattern emerging in front
of his eyes. Gazing bewildered at an empty computer screen, poor old Tovy tried
his very best, but he could see nothing, for there was nothing to be
seen.
“Oh dear,” he thought, “can I
be such a stupid humanist as well as a traitor of my people that I cannot see a
thing?” “Yep Tovy, you
are stupid, but it has nothing to do with humanism, you are just stupid like no
other” the inner voice
he denied seemed to be whispering to him. “Is it possible that I am not fit for
my office?” “What office
Tovy?” Wondered the
inner voice, “You do not
really have an office. You are just an imposter, just stop dreaming for
Godssake.” “No, no, I
cannot say that I was unable to see the truth.” “Don’t worry Tovy, no one
ever expected you of all people to tell or even to see the
truth,” said the inner
voice before it faded away.
“Now, have you got nothing to
say?” said one of the swindlers, while he pretended to be busily
contemplating.
“Oh, it is very eloquent,
exceedingly thought provoking,” replied old Tovy, rolling his eyes to the
ceiling. “What a huge intellectual revelation! What a small effort for the
Jewish progressive people yet a giant step for humanity, I shall tell the
emperor that I like it very much.”
“We are pleased to hear that,”
said the two ideological wizards and showed him his way to the
door.
Now the swindlers asked for
more money, so they could buy some fresh Gefilte Fish and Chopped liver, which
are apparently a necessary ingredient for the maintenance of the Jewish working
class ideology enthusiasm.
Soon afterwards, the emperor
sent his second best obedient soldier, this time it was Markus Gatekeepstein,
the notorious minister in charge of belligerent Jewish frontiers Policie.
Gatekeepstein rushed to the thought provoking weavers to see how they were
getting on. Like elder Tovy, slightly younger Gatekeepstein looked and looked,
but could see nothing, as there was nothing to be seen.
“Is it not a beautiful piece
of Kosher ideological cosmopolitan delight?” asked the two swindlers, showing
and explaining the magnificent model, which, however, did not
exist.
“I am not a stupid
anti-Semite,” Gatekeepstein thought to himself in an attempt at his own
reassurance. “And yet I cannot see a thing. It is very strange, but I must not
let anyone know it.”
By then, everybody in the
whole shtetle talked about the newly emerging precious working class
cosmopolitan ideology. At last Moisha’le the emperor wished to see it for
himself. With a number of elder courtiers, including the two ministers who had
already been there, he went to the two clever swindlers, who now pretended to
work as hard as they could, but without producing a thing.
“Is it not magnificent?” asked
the two statesmen who had been there before. “Your Majesty must admire the
proletarian shapes and the three dimensional eloquence.” Once again it is going
to be us, the progressive Jews who are going to save the world, or at least what
is left of it due to our previous religious-like grand theory. They pointed to
the empty computer screens, for they imagined the others must have seen
something there.
“What is this?” thought
Moisha’le the emperor, “I do not see anything at all. That is terrible! Am I
stupid anti-Semite? Am I unfit to be emperor of the Jewish progressive
anti-Zionist clique? That would indeed be the most dreadful thing that could
happen to me.”
“Really,” he said, turning to
the ideological weavers, “your presentation has our most gracious approval,” for
he did not like to say that he saw nothing. Doing so would obviously reveal that
he isn’t as clever as he must have known he wasn’t.
All his attendants, who were
with him, looked and looked, and although they could not see anything more than
the others said, like the emperor, “It is very beautiful. Once again it is us,
the socialist chosen people who are going to lead the world working class
struggle and Palestinian liberation in particular.” Some reports were heard that
everybody seemed to be delighted, and the emperor awarded the Zionist swindlers
with a fake golden Mazal Tov medal.
The whole night previous to
the day on which the International Palestinian Solidarity Congress (kindly
sponsored by the Jewish Chronically- ill) was to take place, the Zionist
swindlers pretended to work, and burned more than sixteen Judeocide memorial
candles. By thus burning the special midnight oil, people could see that they
were busy finishing the emperor’s new ideological suit.
The emperor and all his barons
then came to the hall; the swindlers held a blank CDrom as if it contained
something and said: “This is for the working class! This is for the friends of
the Kosher socialists around the world” as if they had any friends. The
swindlers obviously knew well enough that Jewish Marxists reserve themselves a
special place amongst the world proletariat.
“Does it please your Majesty?”
asked the swindlers, and Moisha’le approved confidently.
The master of the Palestinian
Congress, himself an atheist and cosmopolitan announced that the bearers of the
new future for Palestine and the planet are ready to share their
vision.
“Ready indeed,” said emperor
Moisha’le preparing himself to reveal what he hoped would evolve into a new
worldwide religion.
At the congress, old Tovy
Greencard and Markus Gatekeepstein were handing out blank flyers, then Moisha’le
the emperor marched into the hall, and all who saw him, even before the emperor
opened his mouth, excitedly shouted, “our emperor’s new Ideological suit is
incomparable! What a vision! What a vision, new birth to our progressive
socialist affairs!” Nobody wished to let any of the others know that he saw
nothing from the emperor and his alleged agenda, for then he would have been
unfit for his office or be seen too stupid to fight the right war. Never was an
emperor’s new ideology more admired.
“But he has nothing on at all
to offer, the emperor is shooting blanks,” screamed young Jihad Abu Az Zaman.
“There is no ideology, and there is no vision.” “Good heavens! listen to the
voice of an innocent man,” shouted an anonymous Sun reader who happened to
support the Palestinian rights struggle for real. And then Jihad said, “The
Emperor is naked, he has nothing to say, has never had anything to say. The
emperor and his tribal brothers are nothing but imposters.”
Greencard and Gatekeeperstein
looked confused, they rushed to save their emperor, But by the time it was over,
once they arrived at the crown everyone in the hall, including emperor
Moisha’le, realised that Jihad was right. There was no ideology and there has
never been one, just a pretence that suits some for a while.
Moisha’le knew it all but he
thought to himself, “Now I must bear up to the end.” Bear up to the very bitter
end, as lonely as I happen to be, it was me who brought it all on myself.
Emperor Moisha’le carried himself for a bit more and then kept behind closed
doors for the rest of what was left of his futile life.
Moral: Never let anyone called
Jihad or anything that may sound similar anywhere near a Palestinian solidarity
gathering.
