We'll have set the bar when we make Auschwitz the star
and call out the Juden loud and strong.
For it's Arbeit macht frei when we spritz the Zyklon-B
and those Nazis keep playing our song.
Wendell was washing the struggling remnants of his combover hair, contemplating whether it would be more environmentally sustaining to simply rub a puree of bleached peanut husks into his bald dome and let the resulting paste absorb his dandruff when he heard the Tibetan mud-chime announce thunkingly the presence of unexpected company at his front door.
"Well, this is unexpected," he said redundantly.
The mud-chime impatiently rethunked.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," he grunted while stuffing his alabaster, boney bare feet into his favorite pair of Birkenstocks, then sweeping the matches, bong, rolling papers, incense packs, roach clip, and plastic bag of coke-laced Fearless Fresno weed off the coffee table and into a worn hemp backpack he kept by the door.
Wendell squinted in the bright midday light as he swung the front door open. Before him stood two strangers dressed in short sleeve shirts, tieless young men with earnest, slightly nervous expressions and toting Bibles.
"Are you mister Weedy?" asked one of the missionaries each a dead ringer for the other.
"Yes. Who are you?"
"I'm Fred Cowlick and we're from the Mono-polytheistic Church of Three-Gods-in-OneTM."
"Uh, okay," said a reluctant Wendell.
"And we'd like to talk to you about God."
"Why? What's he done now?"
"Uhm, nothing like that," stammered Fred, "Have you accepted Jesus into your life?"
"I gotta tell you, Fred, I'm not keen on taking dead strangers into my life," said Wendell as he began to take the initiative.
"Mister Weedy," lamented the other missionary, "have you ever been to church?"
"Not if I could help it," said Wendell. "But I do go to Take-an-Infidel-to-a-Mosque Days when they come up. Anyone who is anti-Islam is a bigoted reactionary. Don't you agree?"
"Uhmmmm...." said Fred.
"Say," Wendell continued, "you're not one of those crazy haters who says Islamists cut off people's heads, run suicide bombers, or are out to kill us, are you?"
"No," said Fred. "I've never said that."
"When?" asked Wendell.
'When what?"
"When did you never say that?"
"I always never said that!" protested the now-defeated Fred.
"Good. Now get off my porch," said Wendell, closing the door and smiling to himself. Confront and push back. Obama had it dead right.
