The Jewish Kid and the Cannibal

You only get a partial story when you read this. Due to dismemberment of human limbs, and how things don’t feel good when you’re there and involved.

Once upon a time, I was visiting the mental ward of a psychiatric hospital. I had lost my first husband to a disease called putting people on major pharmaceutical phony cures for depression. His mental illness was caused by the fact that his girlfriend Angela had committed suicide by shooting herself in the stomach. This was due to the fact my first husband had left her pregnant with child, and also she had a previous daughter who had died of so-called genetic leukemia as a child herself. Or, at least, that’s the version of what happened that I ended up with. My first husband was Jewish, with parents who’d escaped the Nazis via being teenagers or so and traveling with their folks to America.

Anyway, some three score years after that, when I was visiting my husband’s now deceased cousin on said mental ward, I met a Semitic, youthfully wiry teenage boy, probably around 14 years old. I had read extensively about the Jews of New York, researching old books. Did you ever notice that all books are old books? The reality there is that you can only get a recent book. It’s amazing, but there’s no such thing exactly as books of the present or future, unless you’re reading them in progress, sometime during the publication or whatever process of print.

The young boy I met in the paragraph above? Well, he moved back and forth along a kind of number line at me, going back and forth, stating with his body language that he was and still is possibly less than zero, which is a book title. Fortunately, there is no such thing as a copyright for a book title. The boy I now call the Jewish kid explained his situation at me. He said he lived in the Seattle regional area, and that he was previously staying at an apartment somewhere in the vicinity, but he was kind of looking for another place to live. Meanwhile, he had been gauged as mentally ill somehow, possibly by him himself. Or someone or several such someone else family members or friends.

He was just all white and dark haired and Semitic looking. I recalled those stories I had read, about New York Jews in the old days where Italians used to beat them up frequently. Well, like Hitler said, there’s always something about old books. You read them, you learn from them, and sadly like Hitler did, you tend to apply them to your own real life circumstances. Really, you do. So the Jewish kid explained to me while we were on full view by the nurses on the mental ward that he didn’t really care about his life much anymore, he just wanted to maybe find a new place to live, one apart from the cannibal down the hall. He was worried about himself and the cannibal man, but he made a mistake of sorts. He was talking to someone who knows how to throw a karate punch.

Ever hear the phrase, “If you can do, do, but if you can’t do, teach?” I can only punch my was out of a wet paper bag, I think, as I’m female and after all those psychiatric medications I had been on, thank God or whatever I do that I am now off of them completely and recovering – I am waiting for them to put me back on them again, when I’m older and need pain meds in a hospital. Wow, the machine accepted the word meds. And I haven’t forgotten about Judaism either. Well the machine accepted that word either for some reason.

I immediately told the Jewish kid to settle down, very softly so that no one would interfere with us. I risked a lot doing this, but then again who knows. Is life itself even worthwhile, as Woody Allen had asked time and time again? So I taught the Jewish kid how to punch his cannibal opponent, living back there where said kid used to live, as he was planning on applying for somewhere else, but maybe he wasn’t a real man yet. That would require some ridiculous Jewish party where he gets elevated on a chair, receives ritzy presents, and or has to believe he’s an overnight adult. Maybe he’d already had his bar mitzvah oh another word this machine accepts and doesn’t try to correct.

I taught that boy how to punch, and like Ray Bradbury the science fiction writer said, he was ready for it in a red hot second. He was so intelligent and so muscular under all that skinny he seemed to be that he did a gorgeous, beautiful punch in the air to the left of me, right across in front of my face. In a split second, he had chosen exactly where to punch the cannibal man that was haunting him who lived down the hallway.

But he didn’t see himself as more valuable than a weirdo who had unnecessarily disappeared into the bottomless pit of human depravity, namely a weirdo waving a knife at him down the hallway, trying to invite the Jewish kid in so he could eat him. I need more Jews in Seattle. Hang Hitler high for being a hay man, oh shoot that has always been the problem.

The fact is the cannibal was human and was there for a reason, well, maybe not under God, but something like that. Throwing a punch is an act of physics, and even I could land a kick better than Chuck Norris and throw a punch that works, well, one that leaves someone to die slowly. Immediately, too, as that is when it begins that the oppressor becomes the victim, his own victim.

So, in short, I don’t know if the cannibal could have accepted that he should have called the cops on himself until after the first victim. You see where this is going. He would have to have at least one dead victim in his apartment before he could even call the cops on himself, or maybe he could have said, “I have been waving a knife around in the hallway outside my door, which isn’t my door ever,” and maybe he could have found a way for the cops to do something.

Maybe not, but really who knows. So the Jewish kid left the mental institution, with a punch in him, and the right thing to have done was to punch out the human, suffering, not so miserable and overly enjoying his life cannibal, before the Jewish kid was eaten by the cannibal and joined a very long list of people. Not so much, because of course the smell of dead human body parts is way too there, hovering around, and it makes it obvious which one is the cannibal’s apartment, and eventually he gets turned in by the police, of course.

This is almost getting rattled off at that. At what? Well, the Jewish kid’s choice was perhaps to take the info on how to punch someone repeatedly until it hurts enough for the cannibal to stop eating say, 10, 50 or 100 or plus humans in his apartment building, I don’t know how small or large it was there, before he got caught at it. Sort of like a depraved lion living in it. The Jewish kid I taught the world’s best karate punch too seemed to learn it, in just that small, fast, instantly there way, and maybe he used it to punch the cannibal once, and of course the cannibal maybe dragged him in there and ate him. How many people are moving into an apartment building near you?

Or maybe at least the cannibal learned some respect for the kid. And he stopped waving the knife at that kid and stopped inviting him in. And then the Jewish kid maybe got his things together, and Elvis there left the building. Anything could have happened from teaching one Jewish kid how to fight properly, and my having run out of time and ability to teach him how to kick and block. Without the dude grabbing a leg or an arm, and no teaching how to twist either.

I helped stop a major bear attack that happened near the Canadian border, it was an 800 plus pound Canadian or Alaskan black bear who was either a mom full of cubs or a dad full of park rangers, deer, other bears, what not who knows. Nobody does yet. I just wanted a Jewish husband, really, but I would never have met Ron Schwarz without Hitler, without ending up on what I needed to end up on, namely psychiatric meds. I heard a voice in my head in that small town near Canada, it said, “You’re going to marry Ronald Gary Schwarz,” gee that happened before I ever met him. Well, I did, and then there was that Jewish kid. Maybe I get help from God sometimes.

Hopefully, Adolf the wolf man isn’t God. Just some power broker from the past who died in 1947 or thereabouts. Seems he mailed me Ron Schwarz, but I loved Ron and oops maybe going on meds was my own impatient fault. So I had met our beloved son on that mental institution ward. Well, Ron never screamed the entire time his legs and body were being ripped apart by meds making him more spastic. By the way, his parents were named Gertrude Wolfe and Alexander Schwarz. They are now on the Internet forever, or else.

Something like that. Lying is impossible, and so is telling the truth. Neither one satisfies my need for the reality that is never there. The one that explains it all to me, the one the Schwarz people tried to supply me with. Somehow, death ends all that, and the rest is an animal with a huge brain talking to itself, whether male, female or both, or even anything else like a corpse or something. So, my hopes are that the Jewish kid took out that cannibal before the poor dear man made a mess out of that entire apartment building. But of course it sure isn’t better to give blow jobs all your life to an Italian monster who isn’t there.

The Italian guys in the earlier version, though were at least human beings, like Frank Sinatra or Billy Joel or that nice lady you know down the block who still speaks Italian. Why, if something eats humans but is still human, what is it? Probably a more heavily evolved human being. Maybe even a blonde one, according to Hitler, but who knows. Sigh, I suppose that is obvious? So maybe the cannibal, but wait that is a throwback to more primitive times, I guess, the guy needed the protein because you would not believe the high cost of rent, groceries, the present acceptance of human cannibalism, so on.

I’m stuck hoping the kid learned that punch, because he picked up on where to throw it without my telling him stuff, I think I may have told him to punch the guy’s face too, and was stopped short on repeatedly because I was scared both for the cannibal and for getting caught, both the kid and I, especially me and my family depends on my earning a living… you see?

I guess it is largely a case of anything goes. Well, the kid maybe had learned how to fight properly, ended up at a dojo somewhere, that sort of thing. Maybe he got the resources, as he was still an innocent kid, on the mental ward – and they moved him to Section 8 housing. And maybe there he made a fresh start. But he told me he was fascinated by the strange man down the hall who kept waving that knife at him, and saying, “Hey, come here, I got something for you, Hymie! You can come visit me, you don’t have anyone else!”

I’m hoping the kid punched him out. In the face, several times, and the dude’s knife went clattering to the floor, and that calm, all white Jewish kid walked over the body and called the police. But, what if the dude got up? The Jewish kid would have had to figure that one out by himself. Well, maybe he could have shouted, “I’m calling the police, I punched out a knife wielding loony!” He would have yelled that, but unfortunately, I had no time to teach him how to shout the special phrase in Japanese style karate where you make a very loud sound. It’s called a ki-yi, and the fact is you at least need to know about that. And the Jewish kid was maybe living all alone, with limited family support. The cannibal probably had nobody, maybe that one Jewish kid to pick on.

There’s not enough time to do that on a small, locked mental ward. Now I live in the world’s smallest house, waiting for my husband to finish reading this story. It is cozy, and at least I still have a life to lead. Meanwhile, there are still worldwide serial murderers who rape and kill their victims, and their special children, the cannibals, and of course the people who shoot at people a lot and blow things up and cause events leading up to World War III.