Chapter Thirty-nine "What have you got against being nice?" Oprah asks. "Being nice is anything but," the old guy says. "Being nice is the glue that holds the gulag together." "Gulag, schmulag. What gulag?" "The gulag of abject poverty overseen by obscene wealth, that's what gulag. The gulag of slaves and slave owners, the global gulag of gluttony that has starved and murdered and tortured and brainwashed more people than Hitler, Stalin, Mao and Pol Pot put together, the gulag we've been stuck in since before our mothers were born." As if responding to some unknown cue in a secret script, Abraham sings: "There's nothing surer, the rich get rich and the poor get poorer, In the meantime, in between time, ain't we got fun?" "Exactly," the old guy says and nods toward Oprah. "That's where you come in. You and guys like you see to it that the slaves in the slave state stay happy, that they have fun, that they whistle while they work, that they don't rock no boats." "Whatever." Oprah's chin juts out. "Oh, you think there's not a bunch of bloated oafs sitting on top of a big pile of money that was built by slaves and depends on slaves to keep it getting bigger?" "Like some new-world-order, Masonic conspiracy that put a pyramid with that all-seeing-eye on top of it on the back of a dollar bill?" Oprah chuckles. "It's a pyramid and a conspiracy, yeah, but it's not Masonic. The blocks at the bottom of any pyramid support the blocks above them and so on and so on until you get to the top, right? That's as straightforward as it gets. The thousand billionaires who run big, multinational corporations are the all-seeing eye. Everyone else is a slave. Orphans work for rag pickers in garbage dumps who work for rag collectors who work for rag consolidators who work for rag exporters on up the line until you get to guys like Warren Buffett and Bill Gates who pay propaganda sluts to put on a happy face and hype the notion that making money is the pinnacle of human achievement. Tiger Woods doesn't play golf he makes money for Warren Buffett and Bill Gates. He's a caricature, a profit center, a balloon in Macy's Parade. IMG may have paid him a billion dollars over the years but that's small potatoes compared to the hundreds of billions of dollars he's made for the big companies who own IMG. Same goes for you and A-Rod and Tom Brokaw and all the other propaganda sluts. People buy hype, period. You have to be nice to sell it. You have to laugh and smile and be upbeat and get tears of tenderness in your eyes and lie through your eighty thousand dollar teeth every minute of every day. The owners of Nazi conglomerates pay agents to hire guys like you to hype the crap they have to sell. It's an exclusive contract. Nobody buys anything that some legitimate propaganda slut didn't get paid to sell." "And how, pray tell, does one get legitimate?" "By having the right representation, that's how; by getting an approved agent or manager or lawyer, someone an owner can rely on." Oprah moves her hands like a flapper and sings: "I'm a propaganda slut and I'm okay. I sleep all night and I lie all day." "Hey, you're way more than just okay." He can't seem to keep from smiling. "You're the most successful propaganda slut of all time. You're the Muhammad Ali of propaganda sluts. Do you have any idea how many fewer slaves there'd be if it weren't for you? As long as you keep deifying the notion that making money is the only thing worth doing on this earth you'll keep churning out an endless supply of slaves overseen by smarmy sycophants who willingly martyr themselves to make more and more money for their owners. What higher calling could there be?" "You know, for someone who goes around acting all holier-than-thou, your attitude toward people in general isn't very generous or thoughtful or kind." "I've got nothing against people in general, they just don't know any better, it's your owners and your sponsors and the guys who pay you and your agents and managers and lawyers and publicists and so on and so on to divide people up into demographic packages and turn them into a mindless hoard of all-consuming maggots that I could do without. Once they've used everything all up, then what?" "If this is gonna be more of your apocalyptic claptrap, save your breath." "It's not my apocalyptic claptrap, the extermination of billions of people is the only outcome capitalist exclusivity and unbridled consumerism can possibly have." "Yeah, yeah, are you gonna keep hogging Isaac or what?" "You'll get your fill of the kid, don't worry." The old guy shifts Isaac from one place to another in his lap and says, "It's him I want to talk to you about." "So, talk, but I'm not buying your gulag baloney." "I'm not selling it. The rich can only get so rich. Then what? No empire ever rose that didn't fall. It might not happen in your lifetime or mine, but what about Isaac's? I was his age during World War Two. The population has tripled since then. Icecaps weren't melting. The ozone didn't have holes in it. There weren't any atom bombs or TV or Internet. By the time the kid's my age there's gonna that many more people. We're having a hard time with six billion, what are we gonna do with twenty? There's gonna be mass starvation and carnage like you can't imagine." "People have been worried about mass starvation and carnage for a hundred thousand years. Neanderthals worried about mass starvation and carnage." "Yeah, and look what happened to them," Abraham says. "Maybe the population could use a little winnowing," Oprah says. "Hey, winnow away," the old guy says. "Anyone who can't find food to eat, fine, let 'em die in the gutter of starvation and disease, but they're not gonna just roll over and do that without causing some trouble first. That's what jails and armies and cops and credit ratings are for, right? Whoever has the most money will last the longest, sure—that's why people make money in the first place—but you don't have to go around being nice about it. Call a spade a spade. Because I've got more money, you die and I don't. Ha! There are ten million people on Earth with a million dollars or more and a thousand people with a billion or more. The more money you have, the better your chances are of staying alive. What's the cut gonna be? Anyone with more than a million bucks will make it? Anything less and it's all she wrote? Ten million's a nice, round, manageable number. You'd have to go back five thousand years to find the last time there were fewer than ten million people on the planet. It'll be heaven on earth when only the rich can afford to stay alive. Garden of Eden here we come." "Aren't you gonna need people to wait on the survivors, though?" Abraham asks. "What good's being rich if you can't have someone doing the dirty work?" "Okay, fine, give 'em ten each. That's still only a hundred million." "It might interest you to know that the standard of living among billions of people all over the world has gone through the roof in the last twenty years." "Yeah? From what to what? A dollar a day to two? So now some goat herder in Kandahar can buy himself a Ford Focus if he's frugal and manages to grow a little opium on the side? It might interest you to know that Bill Gates has twice as much money as all thirty million people in Afghanistan put together." "He made twice as much as they did. Good for him. The more money Bill Gates makes the quicker that goat herder's gonna get his car." "What if the goat herder doesn't want a car?" "All goat herders want cars. It's a well-known fact." "That's the difference between you and me. It's your job to con some poor goat herder into working himself to death to buy the stuff people pay you to want him to want. It's my job to get you to leave the poor goat herder alone. Rich guys pay you and the rest of the media and entertainment boys and girls to preach the devil's own hogwash that making and spending and conserving and earning interest on money are the only things of any consequence a person can do, or should do, or would want to do and that's created the most all-encompassing slave-based police state the species has ever known. Do you know what that means?" His eyes bug out like Jimmy Carter's. "Tell me, oh, wise one." Oprah winks at Giselle. "It means nothing's free. It means there's no free speech, no free press, no free anything, just the poor making the rich richer and so on and so on until pretty soon the only thing that's gonna be left is Bill Gates and Warren Buffett sitting among mountains of rotting corpses, sticking their thumbs in each other's Christmas pies, pulling out each other's plums and saying, 'What a good boy am I!' How fun." "Bill Gates and Warren Buffett give away more money than any other ten people put together." "Ah, yes, noblesse oblige, who could forget the cornerstone of any well-oiled feudal society? Give a gladiator his freedom once in a blue moon and the rest of the slaves will think there's hope for them. Bill Gates and Warren Buffett and the rest of the Nazi billionaires give away a tiny fraction of the money they stole fair and square from everyone else on earth in order to make everyone else on earth think making money's the slickest thing anyone can do. Rockefeller got his kindly old grandfatherly picture in the paper every time he handed out a nickel or a dime to some kid with holes in his clothes. Making money's the most entertaining game ever invented. You get to lie and cheat and steal and subjugate your fellow man 'til the cows come home—the more you lie and cheat and steal the more money you make and the more money you make the more you can hype the idea that you're a kindly old guy who never lied or cheated or stole anything from anyone in his life. Talk about turning language on its ear. War is peace, freedom is slavery, ignorance is strength. Your owners have got you singing the praises of a gigantic, worldwide Orwellian oligarchy that needs us to think we're living happily ever after in in order to make more and more money. I can name you a billion kids under the age of six who are more worthwhile than Bill Gates ever dreamed of being. They've got their whole lives ahead of them. What can be more valuable than a life? Forty billion dollars? Nope. Nothing. And what do they get crammed down their throats as soon as they're over the age of six? Make money, that's what. Do unto your neighbor before he does unto you. There is no God but Money and Oprah Winfrey is His messenger." The old guy raises his right arm in a Nazi salute. "Nobody can say or do or think anything that goes against the central dogma of making nothing but money and money and more money at all costs and to the exclusion of making any other thing." "Like making anything worth making," Abraham says. "Don't be absurd." Spirals of Oprah's still-wet hair seem to tremble around her animated, un-made-up face. "Nobody's got me singing any such thing." "Oh, so you sing it all on your own? For free? Wow. How altruistic. I'll tell you what, stop saying what your owners pay you to say and see who listens. You'll get blacklisted so fast you won't know your own name. Oprah, who? Your agents and managers and lawyers won't take your calls. You'll be out on your ear. I'm telling you, man, they've had you living in the gulag of all gulags your whole life." "You're both nuts. There's more free everything than there ever was. Have you looked at the Internet lately—the Internet that Bill Gates and Paul Allen and Sergey Brin and a bunch of your other so-called Nazi billionaires built, by the way? You can stick up any kind of crackpot crap you wanna stick up for next to nothing. If that's not free speech and a free press I don't know what is." "Oh, it's free, all right, but it ain't speech and it ain't press. It's gibberish, it's glut, it's moronic bloggers kvetching in a vacuum on a million mindless blogs, it's frat boy narcissism and You Tube twaddle, it's trillions of terabytes of tripe that gets totally tuned out unless someone can exploit it, unless someone can make money from it. Nobody notices anything that some propaganda slut didn't get paid to tell 'em to notice. Hype is all that matters and hype is far from free—you of all people should appreciate that. It's chickens and eggs. If it doesn't make money you can't pay someone to hype it and nothing that doesn't get hyped ever gets heard or seen or paid any attention to whatsoever. The only speech you listen to and the only press you notice is speech and press that was bought and paid for—which precludes it by definition from being free speech and a free press, which is what I said. There's no free speech and no free press. Argue all you want, but you're wrong. The only speech that ever sees the light of day is expensive speech. You only know what someone got paid to tell you to know and that means you only know what's gonna make money. Teachers, preachers, politicians, musicians, magicians and every other kind of media and entertainment dweeb from Rupert Murdoch and Sumner Redstone to Big Bird, Tom Brokaw, Pikachu and you, they all get paid to keep people brainwashed out of their poor, stupid minds, to tell them what to know and how to know it and nobody can tell anyone anything that goes against the notion of making money at all costs." "Oh, yeah?" Oprah can't seem to think of anything else to say. "Yeah." The old guy cranks the foot rest of the La-Z-Boy down and stands up with Isaac in his arms. "You think what your owners want you to think. Your owners pay the media and entertainment monopoly to manipulate your pea brain into going along with the whole heartless system. Your owners want you to be nice. They need you to be nice. They pay you to be nice. So you're nice. You don't do or say or think anything your owners don't want you to do or say or think. You don't even have the rudiments of a mind of your own, not the slightest inkling that what you do is creepy and cruel." He stands over her, balancing the still-sleeping kid against his chest. "Nobody owns me, you crazy old coot." "Sure they do. Lawyers own you. Advertisers own you. The FCC owns you. Walt Disney owns you. Your adoring audiences own you. They bought you fair and square and use you to keep people like them away from people like me." "Ooo, big bad scary you." Oprah fixes a place among the folds of her soft blue shirt, reaches up, slips her hands under Isaac's arms and takes him from his grandfather. He yawns but doesn't open his eyes as he sinks gingerly into Oprah's chest with his fingers next to his mouth like if he got hungry in his sleep he could chew on his knuckles. The baby-smell of his amber-black hair seems to overwhelm her with an emotion without a name; grandmotherliness, maybe. Oprah taps Giselle's shoulder and whispers, "It feels like I'm gonna start lactating." "I wish you could've been around when he was just born," Giselle says. Oprah holds Isaac close, makes a cooing sound, smoothes one of his almost nonexistent eyebrows and says with an utterly satisfied sigh, "You're just pissed off that nobody read your stupid hippie book." "It was a smart hippie book." The old guy stops in the middle of the room, turns back to Oprah, smiles and says, "Well, you know, as hippie books go." "Which obviously isn't very far," Oprah whispers. "Hey, it was far enough for me. I adore my stupid hippie book. Writing it and getting it published the way I wanted it published made me as happy as I've ever wanted to be—and when I made it into an audio book all on my own that made me even happier still. There are some things money can't buy." "For everything else there's Mastercard," Abraham says. "But you're pissed off that nobody paid any attention to your stupid hippie book or your stupid hippie audio book, either one, right?" Oprah asks. "Sure. Well, you know, technically. Yeah. Sometimes. Not for my sake, particularly. For my sake I could give a rat's ass whether anyone read the fucker or listened to the fucker or not. I wrote it the way I wanted to write it. It's done. I'm glad. The end. But I am a little ticked that no one got a chance to read it due to being too brainwashed to know what's worth reading and what's snot. Wouldn't you be? How'd you like to spend thirty years writing one of the precious few books worth reading or writing so far this century, then have nobody read the sucker 'cause people are two-bit twits who don't read anything but the putrid puke some bunch of dipshit propaganda sluts got paid to tell 'em to read? So I said, okay, I'll make it easier, the poor darlings don't even have to read the thing, I'll make it an audio book and give it away for free, all anyone has to do is sit there—then nobody listened to that! What if you made something you knew was good, something new, something nobody's ever done or ever could do in the history of all literature going clear back to whoever wrote The Book of Job, then had nobody know the son of a bitch even existed? How'd you like to hear the single greatest chapter of literary art ever made?" "I wouldn't." "Why not? It's forty-five minutes long. What have you got to lose?" "Forty-five minutes." "Fine. Don't." He sits down and stretches out in the La-Z-Boy again. "You can lead a horse to water," Abraham says. "I've never run across any two people more deluded than you." Oprah blows a whisper of laughter into wisps of Isaac's hair. "If your stupid hippie book was half as good as you think, wouldn't it be on every bestseller list from here to Bombay?" "Nope," the old guy says. "Bestsellers are books that sell and what sells is hype, hype you buy from propaganda sluts, hype that gets injected directly into to the brainwashed brains of slaves, sycophants and the all-consuming maggots rich guys have paid the media and entertainment monopoly to make for them." "Wouldn't it have won some kind of chichi literary prize?" "Not if nobody ever heard of it, no, and nobody's ever gonna hear of it unless some propaganda slut gets paid to gush about it. It's a closed system. What opens the system is money, plain and simple. You can buy a bestseller or a Pulitzer or a National Book Award as easily as you can buy a loaf of bread. Propaganda sluts have turned literature into such glop that the silliest schlock you can think up is a modern masterpiece. Your show accounts for close to ten percent of adult trade book sales in the United States. You've made a billion dollars turning people's minds to mush." "The love of money is the root of all evil," Abraham quotes. "That's not exactly the newest idea I've ever heard," Oprah says. "Oh, it seems to be taking awhile to sink in, I agree," the old guy chimes back in. "How many more times does Jesus Christ have to come along, turn over the tables, shoot out the lights and chase moneychangers around with a whip before people begin to know what the hell he was talking about? What good is it if you gain the whole world and lose your soul? It can't be said any more plainly than that, but who listens? Nobody, 'cause nobody's getting paid to tell 'em it's worth listening to, that's why." "Jesus would've had a hard time getting sponsors, I suppose—you don't want to bite the hand that feeds you—but do you have any idea how boring this all is? I mean, seriously? What's a person supposed to do? Not make money? Move to Tennessee and rag on rich people? Dismantle capitalism?" "Block by block, yeah. That would be a start." "And replace it with what?" "Do unto others. Isn't it odd that nobody's turned in Bin Laden to collect the twenty-five million dollar reward? Some things are worth more than money." "Hey, let's all live in a Seventh Century Islamic theocracy." "You could do worse, but you're probably right. We should just leave well enough alone." The old guy sounds somber, deflated. "Let nature take its course. Empires come and go. Species come and go. Let Bill Gates and Warren Buffett make all the money there is to make. Remember Midas? Everything he touched turned to gold—strawberries, toasted cheese sandwiches, water, wine, all solid gold. What did he eat? What could he drink? When the rich have devoured everything there is to devour, maybe a whole new empire will come along, a whole new species. Nobody knows how things are gonna turn out. That night you crawled into bed with me you never thought you'd be sitting here with our grandson on your lap did you?" "I have no recollection of any of that." Oprah shakes her head. "That's not what you said before," Giselle says. "You told us how the two of you listened to Ian and Sylvia songs on an old record player." "That had to be the next day, the night before I don't remember at all. I was in no condition to be conceiving a child, I know that." "Oh, no!" Abraham pushes against his forehead with the heel of his hand and says in a mocking voice, "I'm just some fop got 'tween sleep and wake?" "Nah," the old guy says. "I was there. I knew what was going on." "Maybe you ought to write a book about this new species you've got in mind," Oprah says, changing the subject. "If it's halfway decent I'll have you on my show. You'll get rich and famous and win the Nobel Prize for Biology or whatever." "No you won't." The old guy shakes his head. "Won't what?" "Have me on your show." "Why not?" "Your owners won't let you. There's only so much you can do or say." "What do you think I can't do or say?" "Anything worth doing or saying. Your job is to keep people so stupid they buy the junk your sponsors need to sell. You're not gonna bite the hand that feeds you, right? Who's gonna pay you to tell people to consider the lilies of the field? People have to stay stupid in order to sell 'em the worthless crap they have to buy in order for your owners to make money. Remember the guy in Plato's cave?" "Vaguely," Oprah says. "The guy in Plato's cave went up into the sunshine then came back down and told the people watching shadows on the wall what he saw. They said he was crazy, called him a loon. That's like me trying to talk to you. Try explaining to someone who's chained in one place, facing straight ahead, someone who can't even see the fireplace, let alone the fire in the fireplace, but can only see shadows from the fireplace on a wall, try explaining that above and beyond the fire he or she can't see, there's a real fire, a fire a billion times brighter than the one in the fireplace. What the guy who went up into the sunshine saw was truth and beauty and love and life, the reality of those things, and all he said when he came back down into the cave was, 'Know yourself.' Every philosopher or guru or holy guy worth his salt climbed up into the same sunshine, saw the same stuff the guy in Plato's cave saw, went back down and said the same things the guy in Plato's cave said and they all knew at the same time and said at the same time that you can say it 'til you're blue in the face but the beauty of it is that it's always been something that can't be bought or sold or earned or learned or told. It either happens to you or it doesn't, you see or don't see, you know or don't know. The slaves in the cave are gonna call you crazy, sure, but is that gonna stop you from telling them what you just saw with your own eyes?" "So your new book's gonna be about Plato's cave? Cool," Oprah says. "I'm not writing a new book. Books are for saps. You have to say really idiotic stuff if you want anyone to read what you write. People only read what their owners pay people like you to tell them to read and you only tell 'em to read the trivial drivel that keeps mindless slaves from knowing what mindless slaves they are." "So your pet peeve is that media and entertainment keep people stupid?" "I've got a million pet peeves. Nonstop propaganda is one of 'em, sure." "What do you consider propaganda?" "There's not much that isn't propaganda." "So we should all do what? Throw away whatever money we have, ignore all forms of communication and gaze into space the rest of our lives?" Abraham plays a little air guitar and sings: "I don't care too much for money, Money can't buy me love." "The Beatles made a ton of money, Boychick." "Jesus didn't make a dime," her son says. "I'm not him." "Yes you are," the old guy says. "Whose Jesus? Yours? Mine? Pat Robertson's? George Bush's? Osama bin Laden's? There are tons of notions of Jesus running around." "Our Jesus. The whole world's Jesus." He flexes the muscles under his eyes. "Everyone's Jesus." Isaac opens his eyes and says, "Everyone is Jesus." Nobody makes another sound. Nothing makes another sound—even the fire quits crackling in the fireplace as Isaac suddenly becomes even more the center of attention than he'd been before. Everyone stares at him, staying still, being quiet, speechless, suspended in shades of disbelief for what seems like a long, long time. "Can he talk?" Oprah asks, finally. "No," Giselle says. "Yep," says Isaac in a terse, breathy, less mature, but distinctly chip-off-the-old-block tone of voice. No one else says another word again as the kid looks slowly, rapturously, around the room; toward the ceiling, toward flames licking the round, random-sized, blackened stones at the back of the fireplace, over at his grandfather and up in wonderment at Oprah gazing down at him. Oprah's mouth makes a little circle, opens into a bigger circle, and then closes into a little circle again as her lips form the word "Wow." It's hard to say whether she says it out loud or not. "Are you doing some kind of ventriloquist bullshit?" Giselle scowls over at Abraham's father. "Hey, I'm as blown-away as anyone," the old guy says. Giselle stands up and reaches over to take her little boy from Oprah. "No, no, I'm good," Isaac says, warding her off with his left hand and moving nimbly over onto the arm of the prickly maroon chair. "When did you start talking?" Giselle frowns. Isaac runs his thumbs under the straps of his overalls, expands his chest and says as if he can't quite understand why everyone's so puzzled, "Now?"

Chapter Forty The old guy cranks the La-Z-Boy upright, looks over at Isaac and the two of them seem to get lost in each other's eyes, seem to lose track of time and language and logic. The kid's got the old guy mesmerized, bewitched, in awe. Her son's awesome! Ha! Giselle feels her heart puff up with pride and brim over with joy and luck and affection like someone's pumping air into her lungs with an old bicycle pump. Isaac's eyes are completely candid—clear and fresh and unflinching, the way her eyes were when she was a kid, the way Abraham's eyes were the night he showed up on her couch. Wow, had a lot ever happened since then. Billie Holliday's voice comes out of nowhere into the backwoods of Tennessee singing: "More than you know, more than you know, Man of my heart, I love you so." The old guy can't seem to speak above a quizzical whisper when he finally gets around to asking Isaac: "What do you know about yourself?" "Too much to make into words," the kid says quickly, brushing his hand through the space in front of his face. "It would be easier to explain a sneeze." He's perched cross-legged on the arm of Oprah's chair, rocking slowly to and fro with his tennis shoes tucked under the backs of his legs. "How can you even understand words?" Oprah asks. "I have ears. I listen. I hear. I have the brains I was born with." He glances at Giselle and his eyes twinkle with pent-up mirth like shafts of sunlight through the blue-green water of a bottomless lagoon. "Have you been listening to what we've been talking about this whole time?" Oprah leans back in her chair to get a better look at him. "Yep. You and grandpa don't know what either of you are talking about but you're cute together. He says yes, you say no. You say stop, he says go. You're two sides of the same coin—it's, like, all Hegelian." "Hegelian?" The old guy cocks his head. "Totally," the kid says. "Mom and dad are the opposite of each other, too. All the stuff that went into you and Grandma Oprah went into dad, same with mom and her parents, back and back, and here I am, the synthesis of everyone. Grandma Oprah says, 'If you can't lick 'em, join 'em.' You say, 'If you can't join 'em lick 'em.'" "Who have I joined 'cause I can't lick?" Oprah asks snappishly. "Jews," Isaac says. "And your grandfather can't join Jews so he's gonna lick 'em?" "Basically, yeah, but don't pay it any mind. He's got an ax to grind." "Why would anyone want to join Jews or lick Jews, either one?" "Jews run things." Isaac shrugs. "Well, Jews and guys who kiss up to Jews," the old guy adds casually. "Run things like what?" Oprah asks. "Media, entertainment, politics, education, hearts and minds," the kid rattles them off. "All the stuff Grandpa was saying about how the rich get richer by keeping poor people stupid. Jews are in charge of all that." "It's not just Jews," the old guy reiterates. "Much as they'd like to, Jews can't do everything by themselves. You have to keep an eye on demographics. Consumers of goods and services come in all shapes and sizes and only pay attention to people who look and act and sound like them, so Jews have to hire all sorts of different shop clerks to sell the junk people need to buy to make sure the rich get richer. That's why a guy like Tom Brokaw, the single most full-of-shit human being who ever lived, gets paid big bucks to pontificate out his ass. The morons of America have been brainwashed from birth to take Tom Brokaw at his word." "More full of shit than Bill O'Reilly?" Oprah asks. "They appeal to overlapping vertical markets." The old guy clasps his hands. "But Jews and guys who kiss up to Jews decide which clerks get the jobs they get." Isaac doesn't seem to want them to go off on a tangent. "Yep," his grandfather says. "The only talent that's absolutely required to work in media or entertainment is that you must unceasingly kiss up to Jews." "So, technically, Jews are in charge." "As far as hearts and minds go, sure—we're all too busy pitying the poor Jews of time immemorial to notice, but Jews and guys who kiss up to Jews have taken over total control of the consciousness of almost all people almost everywhere. Everything anyone can see or hear or read or write or learn or teach is produced and directed and promoted by Jews and guys who kiss up to Jews and has to be approved by Jews or guys who kiss up to Jews. The propaganda gulag has got the whole world living in a Pollyanna police state. You can't even think anything that Jews and guys who kiss up to Jews don't want you to think. It's worse than North Korea. It's worse than Germany under Hitler and the Soviet Union under Stalin and China under Mao. You can't know anything that Jews don't want you to know. It would screw up the system. Jews and guys who kiss up to Jews have built the media and entertainment monopoly piece by piece for the past sixty years and use it to keep you so stupid you think you need the tons of worthless junk you go deeper and deeper into debt to buy." "So Jews are the new Nazis," Isaac says without a hint of emotion. "Well, you don't want to give Jews too much credit, either." The old guy wags his index finger. "It's actually rich guys who are the new Nazis. Jews and guys who kiss up to Jews just do their propaganda for them, the way Joseph Goebbels did Hitler's propaganda for the old Nazis. If you were living in Germany in the thirties and forties, all you knew was what Nazis wanted you to know. Death camps? No. Who would do such a thing? Kill forty million Russians and Poles in the name of modesty, clarity, firmness and decency? Okay, but only because we'll all be better off in the long run. Bomb London back to the Stone Age out of spite? Go for it. Our commanders in the field know best. Give us this day our daily dose of drama and self-esteem and you can do whatever you think you need to do for our own good. Now it's a handful of rich guys who are the Nazis and obscene wealth is the new nationalism, the new blood and soil, the new Fatherland. A thousand billionaires keep doubling their money every decade by selling stuff everyday people get tricked by media and entertainment into thinking they want or need. The world isn't ruled by governments anymore at all, it's ruled by money. The Nazis who own multinational conglomerates are the new aristocracy, the new nobility, the new master race. They make the rules and own the plantations and build the walls and police the streets and control the courts and write the history books and define the words in dictionaries and use Jews and guys who kiss up to Jews in the propaganda gulag to keep ordinary consumers brainwashed out of their poor, stupid minds. The system that worked in the Third Reich has become the system that's working everywhere. New Nazis have risen up from the ashes of World War Two. Huge conglomerates have spread out to include all the people in all the nations on earth. Six million Jews working themselves to death in Dachau, being starved and beaten and tortured and gassed and burned and shot and experimented on, all that was a drop in the bucket compared to the six billion people slaving away in forced labor camps to make nothing but more and more money for the Nazi thugs who run things today. Being poor in a world owned and operated by Nazi conglomerates is the same as being Jewish in the Third Reich. Get rich and stay rich, that's the ticket. Wheedle every nickel out of every man, woman and child you can wheedle a nickel out of and when nobody has any nickels left, melt the fillings in his or her teeth. The whole thing's a miracle of manipulation and organization. Every little nowhere town gets inundated with some version of the same strike-it-rich dream spewed by the media and entertainment monopoly. Make money at all costs. You are what you're worth. Everybody wants to make a buck—legally, illegally, whatever it takes, lie, cheat, steal, sell your kids, sell your body, sell your soul, sell your blood, sell your sweat, sell your tears, marry a millionaire, grow opium, buy commodities, invest in mutual funds, cook crack cocaine, beg, manufacture meth, work for a bank, clean toilets, sell shoes, it doesn't matter how you make a buck or what bunch of no-account slaves you make it off, what matters is the making of a buck. Little local Nazis profit from the labor of their neighbors, bigger Nazis profit from the profits of little local Nazis and so on up the pyramid until you get to the ten million millionaires at the top of the heap—and the thousand or so new Nazi billionaires profit from them. Profit for profit's sake has become the single guiding principle of the species. It's the only game in town, the most engaging sport around. Kids the world over are taught before they can talk that the reason they were conceived was to accumulate wealth and that whoever makes the most money is the coolest, the smartest, the most attractive, the most worthwhile, the cream of the crop, the chosen ones. It doesn't matter what kind of tasteless, talentless twerp you may be, if you've got enough money you're okay, you've arrived, you're the best Sneetches on the beaches. The guys who own Nazi conglomerates have all the money there is to have and they use it to make even more money, to buy more propaganda, to build new camps, to starve more slaves, to conduct new experiments, to extract more wealth—for the fun of it, for the pure joy of making every ounce of profit there is to be made at the expense of every other human value and every other human being on the face of the Earth. When the cost of labor gets too high in one camp, they shut it down and build a cheaper camp in another, poorer country—dignity, honor, love, affection, integrity, humanity, pfssh, show me the money. And the poor, brainwashed schlubs these new Nazis use and abuse and starve and exploit and murder and rape and make into lampshades and render into soap are grateful for the rags they can afford to buy and the bowls of gruel they can afford to eat thanks to the propaganda spewed at them by Jews and guys who kiss up to Jews in the media and entertainment monopoly. They think they're lucky to have a job. They think work makes them free. They count their blessings and mow their lawns and root for the Yankees or the Red Sox or the Giants and vote and send their kids to Nazi schools and owe their souls to the company store. The whole world has become one big concentration camp and pretty soon it's gonna turn into one big death camp. After you've squeezed every nickel there is to squeeze out of a person, it becomes unprofitable to keep him or her alive any longer than absolutely necessary. Multinational Nazi conglomerates are the Fourth Reich and Jews and guys who kiss up to Jews run the Ministry of Propaganda and Public Enlightenment. It's still in its early, euphoric stages—people are stoked about the global economy revitalizing the world the same way people were stoked about National Socialism revitalizing Germany—but this latest Reich is going to turn into the most horrific genocide of all time, a genocide a thousand times more barbaric and inhuman and insane than The Holocaust the Third Reich turned into." "Okay," the kid says. "But lots of Jews have made lots of money besides doing propaganda for the Nazis who own big conglomerates, right?" "Oh, sure," the old guy says. "You don't want to give Jews too little credit, either—they don't just do propaganda and there's nothing stopping them from owning Nazi conglomerate of their own. Jews and guys who kiss up to Jews have all the authority there is to have and make all the money there is to make in media and entertainment, but it's small potatoes compared to the money the rest of the Nazi conglomerates make. There's a bunch of Russians and Indians and Saudis who own Nazi corporations—Chinese, Brits, Canadians, Brazilians, Japanese, you name it. There are plenty of Jewish billionaires among them, too, Jews that don't have anything to do with media or entertainment—all those Russian energy guys, for example, and guys like Larry Ellison, Sergey Brin, Larry Page, Eli Broad, Donald Bren, Steve Ballmer, Andy Grove, Michael Dell, Sheldon Adelson, Herb Allen, blah, blah, blah—but two-thirds of all the Nazi billionaires in the world aren't Jewish." "So you're saying a third of all billionaires are Jewish? That sounds a little far-fetched to me," Oprah says. "Believe it or not," the old guy says. "If you added corporate Nazis who kiss up to Jews, the list would be all-inclusive, of course—Warren Buffett, Bill Gates, Rupert Murdoch, all the Wal-Mart boys and girls—even Islamic oil guys who have a stake in Nazi conglomerates kiss up to Jews. They have to. Without Jews in media and entertainment hawking it for them, nobody would buy any oil, nobody would buy any anything. Capitalism would go out of business. Nazi Muslims are as susceptible to the propaganda spewed by Jews in media and entertainment as anyone else. They wouldn't spend their oil money on the worthless junk they spend it on if they weren't brainwashed by Jews in media and entertainment to want the worthless junk they spend their oil money on. The Sultan of Brunei has four billion dollars tied up in cars, for Christ's sake, and Allah only knows how much crap the Saudi royal family and a handful of sheiks in the UAE waste their oil money on, but it's a lot. If oil guys didn't buy the junk they buy, the rest of the Nazi conglomerates couldn't sell the junk they sell, and so on and so on. The whole thing's a big snake eating its tail. Jews and guys who kiss up to Jews in media and entertainment just keep it hungry." "If the Sultan of Brunei bought four billion dollars worth of automobiles you can bet he paid a lot less than that for them and they're gonna be worth a lot more if he ever decides to sell them. Appreciation makes the world go around," Oprah says. "Usury makes the world go around, ask Ezra Pound," Abraham says. "Nah," the old guy says. "Propaganda makes the world go around. Hearts and minds is where it's at. Once you've infiltrated the hearts and minds of ordinary consumers, it amazing what all you can get them to go along with. Grind the hearts and souls and bodies of six billion slaves into dog food for sport, for the sake of making a buck, for the sake of being better than the next guy, that's what matters. Love thy neighbor, pfssh. Profit from thy neighbor, use the poor putz to glorify yourself, make mincemeat of your neighbor if you can get a nickel or two out of the deal. Screw God. Screw your neighbor. Thou shalt love money with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. The rest is commentary." "I suppose you think I run one of your Nazi conglomerates," Oprah says. "Oh, yeah," the old guy says out of the side of his mouth. "You own a fair-sized Nazi media and entertainment company that kisses up to Jews. You and all the other media boys and girls who aren't Jewish—Rupert Murdoch, Ted Turner, Richard Branson, David Thompson, blah, blah, blah—you all have to kiss up to Jews or none of you would stay in business another month. Who do you think runs News Corp? Jews, that's who. GE, Viacom, Disney, Time-Warner? Jews, Jews, Jews. You have to kiss up to Jews in order to be in media or entertainment and everyone in any other business has to kiss up to Jews in media and entertainment in order to sell the stuff they have to sell to stay in business. Without Jews running the all-pervasive propaganda apparatus, nothing would get any hype, nobody would want to buy anything but bare necessities, demand would go out the window, no demand, no supply—the whole kit and caboodle would dry up and blow away. The sole function of media and entertainment is to con people into thinking the best things in life aren't free. That's the way capitalism works. Value is worth in money. The more money you're worth the more valuable you are, the more you matter." "It's human nature to want to be appreciated." Oprah pats Isaac's head. "Ah, but the notion that money is the only legitimate means of expressing love or affection or appreciation has been shoved down the throats of everyone influenced by Western culture for the last sixty years. It's supplanted every other value there is. Media and entertainment has made money the only thing worth making." "And that's supposed to be some big Jewish conspiracy?" Oprah scowls. "Hey, you tell me. Twenty of the twenty-five billionaires in New York City are Jews—Carl Icahn, Michael Bloomberg, a bunch of Bronfmans and Tisches and Kochs, Bruce Kovner, George Soros, Ron Perelman, Hank Greenberg, Leonard Stern, Bruce Wasserstein, Sandy Weill, Mickey Drexler, Mike Moritz, Ralph Lauren, Calvin Klein and so on. Except for Bloomberg, they're all just plain old-fashioned Nazi capitalist billionaires who don't have much to do with propaganda. It's not until you get past all the energy guys and finance guys and real estate guys and software guys that you get to the Nazi Jews who run media and entertainment—Si Newhouse, Paul Allen, the Cox family, Geffen, Spielberg, Katzenberg, Sumner Redstone, Haim Saban, Steve Wynn, and so on. They're among the big Jewish guns in media and entertainment, but they've got tons of little Jewish guns to go with 'em—Arthur Sulzberger, Tom Friedman, Mort Zuckerman, Jann Wenner, Leslie Moonves, Bud Selig, Neil Shapiro, Clive Davis, Mel Karmazin, Bob Iger, Peter Chernin, Ron Meyer, Jerry Bruckheimer, Sam Tanenhaus, Don Hewitt, Saul Zaentz, Tim Allen, Bob Shaye, Michael Douglas, Rob Reiner, Bob and Harvey Weinstein, Polly Cohen, Nina Jacobson, Elizabeth Gabler, Suze Orman, Charles Saatchi, Paula Wagner, David Remnick, Kinky Friedman, Danny Goldberg, Joel and Ethan Coen, Jane Rosenthal, Bob Yari, Steve Bing, Scott Rudin, Dick Wolf, Doug Morris, Dick Morris, Joel Silver, Barry Diller, Jeff Zucker, David Stern, Wolf Blitzer, Brian Graden, Billy Crystal, Andy Lack, Larry Kirshbaum, Judge Judy, Dr. Laura, Matt Lauer, Jerry Seinfeld, Roger Ailes, Ben Stein, Keith Olberman, Andrea Mitchell, Allen Greenspan, Gerald Schoenfeld, Gail Berman, Jeff Skoll, Brian Grazer, Stacey Snider, Adam Sandler, Nadine Strossen, Nat Hentoff, Al Frankin, Todd Wagner, Sam Zell, Barry Levinson, Bill Maher, David Mamet, Harrison Ford, Charlie Rose and everyone one who ever goes on Charlie Rose's show..." "That's not even close to true," Oprah says. "Maybe it's just me, but any time I've ever seen the thing there's been nothing but some bunch of Jews yammering at some other bunch of Jews about how to make more and more money." The old guy shrugs. "And you're telling me all this, why?" "To give you some inkling of the number of Jews Nazi billionaires put on the payroll to keep ordinary consumers brainwashed out of their poor, stupid minds." "Then they hire guys like Tom Brokaw and Bill O'Reilly?" "And you and Ellen and Jay Leno, yeah. It's complicated. May I continue?" "I would prefer that you didn't," Oprah says. "Larry King, Katie Couric, Mike Wallace, Barbara Walters, Mike Nichols, Al Davis, William Shatner, Jon Stewart, Amy Pascal, Woody Allen, Kevin Kline, Howard Zinn, Joe Roth, Brad Gray, Stuart Bloomberg, Michael Eisner, Michael Ovitz, Brad Siegel, Mark Cuban, Ted Koppel, Michael Douglas, Dustin Hoffman, Bob Dylan, Matt Drudge, Dan Abrams, William Safire, Susan Moldow, Cindy Spiegel, David Shanks, Leslie Gelbman, Charles Krauthammer, Norm Ornstein, Jill Abrahson, Joel Klein, Krusty the Clown, Jerry Lewis, Amy Goodman, Sean Penn, Carl Bernstein, Barbara Streisand, Charles Koppelman, Noam Chomsky, Goldie Hawn, Big Bird, Alan Dershowitz, David Brooks, Borat, Gary Hersh, Winona Ryder, Bill Kristol, Kevin Kline, Ted Frostmann, Lorne Michaels, Sarah Silverman, Jimmy Kimmel, Sid Kimmel, Aaron Sorkin, Andrea Dworkin, David Reznik, Seymour Hersh, Howard Stringer, Lloyd Braun, Gloria Steinem, Larry David, Marvin Kalb, you name it. Joe Lieberman, Barbara Boxer, Diane Feinstein, Carl Levin, Russ Feingold, Rahm Emanuel, Ron Wyden, Chuck Schumer, Arlen Specter, Paul Wolfowitz, Sandy Berger, Richard Perle, Scooter Libby, Larry Summers, Elliot Abrams, Lanny Davis, Michael Chertoff, Doug Feith, David Frum, Josh Bolten..." "Those last guys are all in government or politics," Oprah says. "Government and politics is entertainment, are you kidding? Name me one politician that wasn't hand-picked by Jews or guys who kiss up to Jews. You can't. Same goes for movie stars, rap singers, news anchors, wide receivers and all the rest. Politicians get hyped by the media and entertainment monopoly like any of the other products brainwashed consumers consume. Or not. They're pawns in the big chess game concocted by media and entertainment to keep people blissfully stupid, to keep them slaves, to keep them buying the crap they buy, but even all those guys are just the tip of the iceberg. Tens of thousands of Nazi Jews run every aspect of media and entertainment, including politics, and that's not even counting all the guys who kiss up to Jews. When you include them, Holy Christ, it's everyone—journalism schools, The White House, K Street, publicists, bloggers, critics, social networks, cartoons, video games, think tanks, foundations, book stores, Amazon, English departments, film schools, comedy clubs, music, Broadway, the NFL, baseball, boxing, the Borscht Belt, the Friars Club, PBS, NPR, Sesame Street, talk radio, everything, all sources of information, all forms of communication. All experts are Jews or guys who kiss up to Jews. You don't believe anything that's not propounded and promoted by the high-priced propaganda professionals who keep you strung out on the heroin of hype your whole life. Propaganda is the fountainhead of all viable knowledge and propaganda is inflated, overblown, lying crap...like, by definition. Lord, what mushrooms we mortals be—they keep us in the dark and feed us bullshit. Jews and guys who kiss up to Jews have created the most massive, oppressive, incestuous, unassailable propaganda confabulation ever made by man to enslave other men. Starting with Sponge Bob, it rots the minds of kids before they can talk, teaches teachers to keep the little buggers' clueless when they're old enough to go to school and turns the latest crop of what they call adults over to fear, insecurity, nationalism, racism, greed, success, self-interest, banks, mortgages, insurance companies and endless advertising, all of which conspire to make sure the ignorant twits spend the rest of their lives as happy little empty-headed slaves raising the next generation of happy little empty-headed slaves, consuming umpteen tons of worthless goods and services, wrecking the planet, making money for their owners hand over fist and starting the whole vicious cycle all over again. Anything that generates any kind of hype at all is run by Jews and guys who kiss up to Jews and the only thing they ever really hype is each other, the sacred State of Israel and the never-ending joy of making more and more money for the Nazi conglomerates that own them. All the big movie and TV studios are owned and operated exclusively by Jews and guys who kiss up to Jews, NBC Universal, Disney, Fox, Warner Brothers, Sony, Viacom, MGM. Same goes for all the big literary and talent agencies, CAA, William Morris, ICM, Endeavor, Gersh, IMG, etc.—guys like Norman Brokaw, Jeff Berg, Risa Shapiro, Jim Wiatt, Dave Wirtschafter, John Burnham, Ari Emanuel, Tracey Jacobs, Sam Gores, Mark Steinberg, Harry Abrams and the hundreds of giddy little nitwits who call themselves literary agents: Esther Newberg, Lisa Bankoff, Suzanne Gluck, Mel Berger, Peter Ginsberg, Mort Janklow, Robert Gottlieb, Charlotte Sheedy, Ellen Levine, Steve Wasserman, Al Zuckerman, on and on and on. The only people any of these guys ever sell anything to or buy anything from is other Jews or other guys who kiss up to Jews. It's a fascist, incestuous, criminal cabal and anyone who deigns to say so is obviously completely insane. If it weren't for Jews in media and entertainment there wouldn't be any media or entertainment. And I haven't even mentioned management companies, sports agents, record companies, PR guys, entertainment lawyers, Jacob Bloom, Bert Fields, Bruce Ramer, the list goes on and on for ever and ever. Nothing that doesn't have the Jewish Seal of Approval ever makes its way into the consciousness of ordinary consumers, period—in exactly the same way that nothing that didn't have the Nazi Seal of Approval ever made its way into the consciousness of ordinary Germans in the Third Reich. Those last guys are the guys who really call the shots—agents and managers and publicists and lawyers and such. They're the gatekeepers, the ghouls and goblins of capitalist cruelty, the overseers of never-ending excess, the Simon Legrees of greed, the sheepherders of the apocalypse, the Mengeles and Eichmanns of the next Holocaust. They totally stick together and only give a rat's ass about other Jews the way Nazis only gave a rat's ass about other Nazis...and among them they have an absolute stranglehold on all media and all entertainment and all politics. You don't blow your nose in New York or Hollywood or DC unless you give some bunch of Jews a percentage of the snot to sanctify the handkerchief. They've got stables of celebrities and actors and directors and singers and writers and athletes and politicians and TV anchors and columnists and talk show hosts to keep consumers entertained like the patricians of Rome had stables of gladiators to keep Roman citizens entertained. There's no possible way to get any attention whatsoever without kissing up to Jews or guys who kiss up to Jews. Piss off a Jew in media or entertainment or politics and you can't be in media or entertainment or politics. Say something that might be construed as even marginally anti-Semitic and you can't be anything at all—you can't be a writer, a singer, a politician, a costume designer, nothing. It's a closed shop the way Nazi propaganda was a closed shop. Celebrities are the new gladiators—movie stars, athletes, singers, writers, comedians, game show hosts, news readers, politicians, anyone and anything that keeps you from knowing what a complete police state these latest Nazis have you living in. Gladiators were slaves. Celebrities are slaves. Gladiators saluted the emperor. Celebrities salute Jews. Jews salute Nazi billionaires. Nazi billionaires salute money. Ordinary people get crammed into boxcars and shipped to forced labor camps where they're cheated and lied to and kept entertained out of their poor, stupid minds until they've outlived their usefulness and it's off to the ovens, jiggity jig. You don't make a movie or write a book anyone sees or reads, you don't get on TV or in the newspapers or get any kind of notice or hype or credence or publicity of any kind unless you kiss up to Jews and guys who kiss up to Jews. It's a closed system, an absolute dictatorship. With practically zero exceptions, you can't know anything Jews don't want you to know. Think about that the next time you're at the movies or read an article in a newspaper or browse through a book in a bookstore or pick up a magazine at the dentist's office and keep in mind that you couldn't have seen it or heard it or read it unless it had been sanctioned and vetted and censored and edited and permitted into your consciousness by Jews or guys who kiss up to Jews. They're like the guys who drove the spaceships in Dune. If you control the spice, you control the universe. The spice is corporate Nazi propaganda and Jews control it, plain and simple. Media and entertainment is money grubbing pap and propaganda, period, every word of it, every picture, every sound, every syllable, and Jews and the kiss-ups they hire to keep you stupid are in cahoots to stay in total control of all of it. Nobody ever gets elected to any political office whatsoever unless he or she is hand-picked by a bunch of Jews and subscribes wholeheartedly to a complex agenda that preserves and protects the State of Israel at all costs, keeps Jews in charge of media and entertainment, turns the suffering of six billion slaves into mountains of money for Nazi conglomerates and keeps ordinary consumers brainwashed out of their minds. Unless you pay your dues to a bunch of Jews you're shut out, shut up, ignored, blacklisted, censored, marginalized, laughed at, called a loon. Those are just facts. Jews have an absolute monopoly on all information, all education, all media, all entertainment, all politics, all hearts, all minds—like the kid may already have said." "Not in quite so many words," Isaac says. Oprah chuckles a deep, throaty, chin-jiggling chuckle and says, "What a complete crock! What do you do? Stay up nights making megalomaniacal lists of people who matter 'cause you don't?" "I just like to know who's naughty and nice." "And you presume to know one from the other?" Oprah asks. "Sure. If you know who you are, you're nice. If you have a fair idea of what's in front of your face, you're nice. If you don't try to hide and don't lie or cheat or steal, you're nice. If all you give a rat's ass about is money, you're not." "I told you he had an ax to grind." Isaac pokes Oprah's arm with his tiny fist. "I got a lot of axes to grind," the old guy says. "Why don't you just go ahead and say whatever else you want to say and get it over with so we can get to what we got Grandma Oprah down here to get to?" The kid climbs gingerly off the arm of Oprah's overstuffed chair and stretches out on his back in the middle of the hooked rug. "What did you get me down here to get to?" Oprah asks. "We'll get to that," Isaac says.

Chapter Forty-one "How do you know what we got Oprah down here to get to?" the old guy asks. "I know things I don't know I know," Isaac says in the tick-tock cadence of a wind-up clock as he stares up at the dark, cherry-stained oak beams crisscrossing the white ceiling. "I know that my redeemer liveth. I know that Becky Thatcher will be my wife, that we shall stand at the latter day upon the earth, that in our flesh we shall see God and I know that we got Grandma Oprah down here to get her to quit her job and come live with us happily ever after." "Fat chance of that ever happening," Oprah says. "Who the heck is Becky Thatcher?" Giselle asks. "Dow's daughter." Isaac gets all googly-eyed and smiles a goofy smile. "Dow doesn't have a daughter." "She will, her and Rocco. She's gonna be a little hottie, too. Woohoo!" "Do you know that your grandfather's ill-considered, anti-Semitic screeds creep me out?" Oprah asks sweetly. "He gets a little shrill, I agree." Isaac turns onto his side, props the side of his head against his left fist and shoots a sympathetic look across the room at his still-quizzical grandmother. He seems to have grown. His voice seems to have changed, too; it's deeper, more confident—raspy, thoughtful, considerate—like his dad's voice. It's not even odd anymore that he can talk. He could more than likely walk on water if he wanted to. "Shrill?" The old guy seems offended. "Ill-considered? It was Isaac who said Jews were the new Nazis." He points. "I'm defending Jews. I'm pro-Semitic. I'm saying rich guys are the new Nazis and that Jews just do their propaganda for them." "What about rich Jews?" Isaac asks, raising his skimpy eyebrows. "Oh, sure. Rich Jews are the prototypical new Nazis, but there are twice as many Nazi billionaires who aren't Jewish as there are billionaire Nazi Jews." "I'm sure glad we got that cleared up," Oprah says. "As well you should be," the old guy goes on, undaunted. "Knowing a Nazi when you see one ought to be the first thing you ever learn. By the time kindergarten comes along you should know it in your bones. It's not enough just to know who's a Nazi and who's not, you've gotta identify Nazis. You've got to point them out to others. That's one of the few duties you have in life. You should be required to call a Nazi a Nazi no matter who the Nazi happens to be. If he or she's a Jew, too bad, he or she's a Nazi Jew. Recognizing a Nazi when you see one is the exact opposite of anti-Semitism, as any Jew worth his or her salt ought to know at birth. Never again, ha! You say you don't want another Holocaust, you say you don't want another Hitler or Stalin or Mao, so what do you do? Go find yourselves the next bunch of Nazis and do their propaganda for them? Get on the right side this time? There's nothing wrong with a little Holocaust here and there when you're the ones with the guns and the swastikas and the boxcars and the barbed wire and the pliers and the ovens. What idiot doesn't know that? This latest incarnation is the best ever. It's not just national socialism, it's global, it's universal. Nazi conglomerates have their fangs in every culture on earth and the media and entertainment morons who do their propaganda for them have corrupted the hearts and minds of ordinary people everywhere. It's systemic. Anything you can't get money for is worthless. You can't do or say or think or buy anything that corporate Nazis didn't pay Jews and guys who kiss up to Jews in the media and entertainment monopoly to want you to do or say or think or buy. Talk about a thief in the night, yikes. You're gonna wake up one fine morning and find that nothing but the ghouls who own big companies and the goblins they pay to do their dirty work have inherited the earth." "So what do you want people to do?" Oprah asks. "Stop buying things? If people stopped buying things there'd really be mass starvation. Warren Buffett may make a nickel or two off some kid buying a Coke at a Wal-Mart in Nebraska but he got the money to buy it from his dad selling corn to Warren Buffett in the first place." "If it weren't for forced labor there'd be mass starvation now," the old guy answers quickly. "People are working themselves to death just to survive. It's getting worse by the minute. They're skin and bones. They're barely staying alive from one day to the next while Warren Buffett and his billionaire Nazi buddies rot their brains and rob them blind and turn their suffering and disease into champagne wishes and caviar dreams. When the snake gets done eating its tail, then what? It eats its own heart and lungs and head? A snake that eats its own head is a pretty stupid snake." "Nobody's forcing anyone to do anything," Oprah says. "No? Try telling that to the three billion people living on less than two bucks a day or the other three billion poor struggling buggers who owe their souls to the company store 'cause they get tricked from the day they're born to the day they die into thinking money ain't everything it's the only thing." "People like buying things. Who's fault is that? Jews?" "Sure. Are you kidding?" He frowns, screws up his mouth and shakes his head. "People get bombarded day and night by nonstop Nazi propaganda that compels them to go deeper and deeper into debt to buy the useless garbage the rich need to sell in order to get richer. They're inundated. They don't know anything else. They get conceived under the influence of Nazi media and Nazi entertainment. If it hadn't been for a handful of frisky housewives being bored out of their minds by Ted Koppel prattling on about Hutus and Tutsis chopping each other to pieces that night in 1994 there'd be forty-seven fewer kids playing inane video games today. People get Nazi hype spewed at them in their dreams, in their fantasies, on the backs of their cereal boxes. All anyone can ever know is Nazi news, Nazi education, Nazi comedy, Nazi drama, Nazi music, Nazi politics, Nazi advertising—baby's gotta have new shoes, mama's gotta go on a cruise, a kid can't leave home without his or her iPod, dad wants to come home to Heidi Klum in a see-through negligee but settles for coming home to a six-pack of Coors Light and the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition. Who do you think Nazi conglomerates pay to make all that bullshit up? Jews and guys who kiss up to Jews in the media and entertainment monopoly, that's who." "Gimme a break. Isaac's wearing Huggies, for God's sake." Oprah points. "His mother reads Vanity Fair. She watches The Simpsons and gets her gossip from The New York Times. That makes her as gullible as anyone else. It's not her fault that Kimberly-Clark owns a little piece of her heart." Giselle flips him off. "A rising tide lifts all boats," Oprah says. "That's what you suggest? Shut up, swallow your humanity, jump on the bandwagon and make nothing but money like everyone else? Come out with a magazine that's half paid advertising and the other half propaganda disguised as content to manipulate its readers into buying the crap the advertising advertises? Get rich, stay rich, lie, cheat, steal, borrow, borrow, borrow, spend, spend, spend? Produce a TV show that worships money to the exclusion of all other things? That does nothing but sell, sell, sell? A TV show that turns God's gifts of reason and apprehension and endless love into an ever-increasing mass of mindless maggots devouring everything in its path to make more and more money? Get some simpering shrink up there peddling his silly self-help book to help himself to some money? You don't have to read the book to live forever and be beautiful, all you have to do is buy it. Nobody lives forever. Nothing you can buy will make you beautiful, but so what? Buy it anyway. Why? For the simple sake of borrowing and spending money, that's why. The more money you spend the more you're worth. You were put on this earth to borrow, make and spend money, money for the smarmy celebrities you get on your show, money for their agents and managers and publicists and lawyers whose job it is to make sure that none of them ever says or does anything worth saying or doing, money for all the little middlemen along the way, the clerks and copy editors and waiters and busboys and bike messengers who need to make and spend money, too, money for you, money for your advertisers, money for the guys who make the crap they advertise. Do the demographics. Once you've weaseled all the money there is to weasel out of a person, that person has no value. His credit's shot. He can't borrow money. He can't buy anything. He's broke, disposable, useless. If he has health insurance you keep him alive until it runs out. If you'd lived in Nazi Germany your book club would've gone gaga over Mein Kampf. You would've rhapsodized that there was no higher calling for good German housewives than to bear Aryan children for The Fatherland and no higher calling for good German men than to grab new living space for the master race. Murder forty million stupid Slavs? Sure. Go for it. Take over Poland. Take over Russia. You would've gotten all teary-eyed with admiration and affection for Himmler. You would've hyped him and his Nazi notions with all your heart while he winked and tittered and patted your knee and told your adoring audiences how they could be even better German housewives if they ratted out more of their filthy Jewish neighbors." "I don't think so." Oprah shakes her head. "I know so. You're regurgitating the same propaganda for these latest Nazis as people like you regurgitated for the Nazis of The Third Reich." "There weren't any people like me in Nazi Germany." "That was just Germany, this is the whole world. This latest master race has branched out. It's become more inclusive and more exclusive at the same time. All you need is money. If you're rich you're in, if you're poor you're out. Billions of people aren't gonna survive. They'll be eating bugs. They'll be digging up graves to find food. If you didn't do and say whatever Jews and guys who kiss up to Jews in the media and entertainment monopoly make you to do and say, nobody would have ever heard of you. You're a creation, a mouthpiece, a symbol, a construct, a fantasy, a conglomeration of pure propaganda that gets trotted out like clockwork every afternoon to make sure your little segment of society toes the new Nazi party line." "So if Jews and these new Nazis are in cahoots, who are the new Jews?" "Everyone else. Poor people. Anyone who doesn't have a million dollars or more. Humanity has finally been reduced to two kinds of people, rich and poor. Race, sex, religion, nationality, it's all gone. You can be any gender, any creed, any sect, any ethnicity, if you're rich you're gonna inherit the earth, if you're not, you're gonna be exterminated. There are no more shades of gray. These new Nazis are a worldwide corporate oligarchy based exclusively on wealth. Billionaires sit on the board of directors. Millionaires own all the stock. Among them they have a hundred trillion dollars to play around with. Money equals influence. Poor people are out of luck—all poor people, poor people everywhere, poor Jews, poor Gentiles, poor Chinese, poor Rastafarians, everyone—the poorer you are, the less say you have. Six billion people are ignorant, deluded, disenfranchised serfs who were born in forced labor camps, will die in forced labor camps and will never have any influence over the affairs of their own existence let alone anyone else's. They don't know that, of course. They think they do have a say. They think they vote. They think their opinions count. They log onto CNN and leave comments. They think they matter. Ha! They don't. What matters is the money they make for their owners, what matters is that they have a job and good credit, what matters is what they go into debt to buy. What matters is the interest they pay. After they're done getting people to want the crap they have to sell in order to keep getting richer and richer, these new Nazis rely on Jews in the media and entertainment monopoly to keep the people living in slave labor camps amused, to keep 'em thinking it's a treat to beat their feet on the Mississippi mud, to give them hope, to make them laugh, to put up billboards telling them that work makes them free, to keep them so blissfully stupid they don't know they have no say and wouldn't care if they did. What you call democratic elections are nothing more than another form of amusement financed by Nazi conglomerates and produced and directed by the same Jews and guys who kiss up to Jews who produce and direct all the other distractions that keep people mindlessly making money for their masters...movies, TV, music, magazines, on and on and on. Politics is sport. It's an opiate, a soap opera, a rock concert, a cartoon, a video game, reality TV, just another crude, crass, manipulative, lowest-common-denominator melodrama full of contrived conflict and spurious gossip to keep ordinary consumers clueless, to keep their poor minds cluttered with gratuitous fluff while they work themselves to death, to keep them buying crap they don't need or want and can't afford, to keep them going deeper and deeper into debt, to make sure they're always gonna owe their souls to the company store. It's NASCAR and the Kentucky Derby and the World Series and the Final Four and the Oscars and the Olympics and Miss America and a good old-fashioned back-alley dog fight all rolled into one. The churlish goblins of greed who are in charge of propaganda get together with the mindless, heartless, money grubbing ghouls who own Nazi conglomerates, come up with caricatures created by minimum-wage focus groups, call them political candidates, put them in front of audiences all over God's green earth and let them take potshots at one another for a long, long time while snake-oil salesmen in media and entertainment do ringside commentary between ads for Doritos. Who wins or loses doesn't mean diddly—there hasn't been a dime's worth of difference between any two candidates running for political office anywhere in the world in the last sixty years. The guys who run Nazi conglomerates and Jews and guys who kiss up to Jews in the media and entertainment monopoly have a deal. As long as nothing gets in the way of the economy growing at rate of at least five percent a year and the general population doesn't get too restless, stays docile, remains entertained, Jews can use the propaganda apparatus for whatever other self-serving crap they want to use it for—to see to it that the State of Israel is protected and defended at all costs against all enemies, real and imagined, for example, to see to it that Jews and guys who kiss up to Jews stay in complete control of all media and all entertainment, including politics, for another example. Nitpicky, penny-pinching Jews and guys who kiss up to nitpicky, penny-pinching Jews have thousands of nitpicky penny-pinching uses for propaganda besides making money for Nazi conglomerates but if they didn't make money for Nazi conglomerates, they'd all be out of a job. As long as the cretins who run Nazi conglomerates keep getting more money every minute of every day, Jews and guys who kiss up to Jews are gonna stay in charge of all the information that's allowed into anyone's consciousness, period. It's a small price to pay. Corporate Nazis get rich, poor people don't rock the boat and Jews and guys who kiss up to Jews in the media and entertainment monopoly have a steady stream of star-struck shiksa chicks following them around in skimpy underwear while they do all the scurrilous things they need to do to maintain complete control of the hearts and minds of everyone everywhere. That much is obvious, but it's people going into debt to buy Doritos that really matters. Governments have no say, voters have no say, rich guys have all the say there is to have and Jews in media and entertainment say it for them—Disney, GE, Viacom, News Corporation, Conde Nast, The New York Times, Time-Warner, Bertelsmann, Pearson, you name it, from the most inane political blogs to Harvard, Yale, Stanford and Columbia, any entity that generates any kind of hype at all is owned and operated by Jews and guys who kiss up to Jews and produces nothing but mindless, thoughtless, inane propaganda that makes money for multinational Nazi conglomerates." "You're saying the same things over and over." Oprah yawns. "So what? Nobody's ever gonna hear anything I'm saying. That's the beauty of being brought up in a complete police state: nothing anyone can know is worth knowing. I couldn't undo sixty years of nonstop brainwashing even if you were listening. Hitler had a measly ten years and no TV or Internet to come up with the propaganda that turned eighty million Germans into genocidal nutjobs. You think things wouldn't be a little different if the Reich Ministry of Propaganda and Public Enlightenment had been exercising absolute dominion over the hearts and minds of ordinary people for the past sixty years? They would. Trust me. What if Joseph Goebbels had had all the new propaganda gadgets we've come up with in the last few decades or so? Whoa. We'd be goose-stepping down Broadway with edelweiss in our hair, but that's not the way things turned out. Hitler fought the Jews and the Jews won. Fortunes rise and fall. Goebbels was a pantywaist punk compared to the guys who've been running media and entertainment since Nazi Germany went out of business. The sons and daughters of the victims of Auschwitz and Treblinka have become the exclusive purveyors of new, vastly more persuasive, vastly more sophisticated propaganda for new, infinitely more powerful Nazis. The shoe's on the other foot. The Warsaw ghetto's in Gaza and Bangladesh and Mexico City. The Holocaust was a bitch, sure, but Jews have come storming back with a vengeance. When you prune a rose bush you get more roses the following year. Who's gonna argue with horticulture? Not me. The next Holocaust is going to be a thousand times more vile and more murderous than anything that ever went on in piddly little National Socialist Germany. Hitler killed six million Jews, yes. Mao killed sixty million opium addicts and troublemakers in China, so what? Cheap Chinese labor has created untold wealth for the Nazi conglomerate Sam Walton's kids inherited. These new Nazis, with Jews and guys who kiss up to Jews doing their propaganda for them, are exploiting six billion people. It's a National Socialist World. Warren Buffett is the new Fuhrer. Bill Gates is Reich Chancellor. Rupert Murdoch, Si Newhouse and Sumner Redstone run the propaganda ministry. Making and keeping money has replaced conquering and defending living space. Millionaires are the new master race. It doesn't matter what kind of weak, retarded, morally-crippled, misanthropic thieves and criminals they may be, if they've got a million bucks they count themselves among the master race. Billionaires are the new Nazi elite, the crème de la crème. We've taken another step toward the perfection of the species. It's all part of God's grand plan. When poor people have outlived their usefulness, when they've made all the money they can make for their owners, all six or ten or twenty billion of 'em are going to have to be done away with in worse ways than the Nazis in Germany did away with the measly six million Jews who'd outlived their usefulness." "What about the nine million Polish people the cocksuckers killed?" Giselle raises her hand. "How come nobody ever talks about them?" "They weren't Jews." Abraham pecks the air with his thumb and forefinger. "Oh, yeah. I forgot. Dennis and I had this conversation a million times. He was obsessed with The Holocaust." "Who isn't obsessed with The Holocaust?" the old guy asks. "Jews in media and entertainment have made tracking down ninety-year-old file clerks from Sobibor and ragging on Gunter Grass for joining the equivalent of the Boy Scouts the new national pastime. Who needs baseball and apple pie when you can take the family out for an afternoon of fun and frolic at the latest local Holocaust museum?" "The Holocaust was more than just a bitch." Oprah says. "Sure it was. It was inhuman beyond comprehension, but whose fault was that? Neither yours nor mine. All the genocides there've ever been have been more than just a bitch going clear back to the dawn of time. Greeks and Persians and Romans and the emperors of China were genocidal maniacs. That's the way the human race works, the way civilization evolves. The slaughter of twelve million Indians in the Americas was more than just a bitch. The institution of slavery in the New World was more than just a bitch. Vietnam and Cambodia and Rwanda were all more than just a bitch. Stalin and Mao and Hirohito and Hitler and LBJ killed people hand over fist. A hundred million people you never heard of have been victims of genocide in the last ten years—you think that's not more than just a bitch? When these new Nazis have used up all the resources it's gonna take to get as rich as they can possibly get there's not gonna be anything left for the people who got them rich in the first place. Untold billions of individual human beings are going to have to be butchered in order to accommodate the lifestyles of the rich and famous—and we're all supposed to just sit on the sidelines and watch? The handwriting's on the wall. If you had eyes you would've seen it in Nazi Germany and if you have eyes you'll see it now. How long do you suppose it's going to take to turn everyone and everything on the face of the earth into a worthless pile of money?" "You're hysterical," Oprah says. "Hysterical? Wasn't anyone who differed with Hitler hysterical? Didn't he or she get a one-way ticket to Dachau? The same thing's happening now, only it's a thousand times worse. Effective propaganda eliminates dissent." "Hey, dissent all you want, nobody's stopping you." "Everyone's stopping me. My obvious hysteria's stopping me. Who listens to crazy people? Nobody. They're crazy. The propaganda you've soaked up like a sponge your whole life has turned you inside-out. You think black is white, up is down, wrong is right, sane is crazy and the other way around. You can't conceive of the notion that the rules you go by, the aimless aphorisms you rely on to get you from one minute to the next, are the exact opposite of the real rules."