Tuesday, September 16, 2008

The 5th Annual "David McCalden Halloween Holocaust Tale Challenge"

ANNOUNCEMENT:

The 5th Annual “David McCalden Most Macabre Halloween Holocaust Tale Challenge” is here. Pits of boiling human fat? Human soap? Giant "death by steaming" pressure cookers? Fountains of blood squirting from the earth? Help us find new Holocaust stories you find macabre and ridiculous.

The reader who sent me this believes it to be a “fun challenge for Believers and/or Revisionists to explore the wacky world of the Ugly Myth. Millions of disappearing bodies, vast magical burning pits, baby bonfires, you Believers out there can tell us the sickest, weirdest story that you actually believe in. Revisionists can tell us the most macabre Holocaust tale...all in time for Halloween. Spread the word far and wide.”

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Copied the letter to Mogens Schmidt of UNESCO to student editors at about 100 college newspapers around the country. So they will have an introduction to the issue tomorrow morning. Tomorrow my techie is coming by and we will get my mailing program up and running so that I am not so limited in what I can send.

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And then there are the nights.

Dreamed that I parked the car on the side of a highway going through the mountains. I crossed the highway to do something, I don’t know what, and as I was returning to the car it exploded in a fiery blast that knocked me down in the middle of the road. I understood someone had detonated a bomb under the car. I was on my hands and knees on the pavement trying to focus when I saw an oil tanker bearing down on me. I understood that I had time to get up and off the road if I acted in an orderly way. I was calm. When I tried to stand however, I fell down. I tried to stand up again and I fell down again. Now I realized I was more damaged than I had thought I was. At the same time, I saw the tanker slow down. The driver had seen me and was breaking. Now, I thought, I have time to stand up and get out of the way. But I couldn’t keep my balance. I couldn’t shake the dizziness. Each time I tried to stand up, I fell to the pavement again. Then the tanker passed me by at a moderate speed. I didn’t see the face of the driver. I was still dizzy from the blast of the explosion, the dream ended, and I woke up.

As I sat up and put my feet on the floor memory recalled that when we first came down here to Baja I had some concern that one of my friends attached to the Holocaust Industry would give a Mexican twenty dollars to put a bomb under my car attached to the starter. In those days there were death threats. Every night I drove the car inside our patio and locked the seven-foot-high metal doors behind me. After a couple years I relaxed and began leaving the car at the curbing outside the house. Now I feel a tinge of anxiety about the car-bomb scenario again. It’s not really an issue. When somebody decides to get rid of me, they won’t have to do anything complicated. I walk the streets in the dark almost every night. I can be nailed any night in the week with a single bullet in the back of the head.

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