Swedish television airs an interview with traditionalist Catholic Bishop Richard Williamson in which he claims the Nazis did not use gas chambers.
He said: “I believe that the historical evidence is strongly against — is hugely against — 6 million Jews having been deliberately gassed in gas chambers as a deliberate policy of Adolf Hitler.”
Where’s this guy coming from? A moment later he says:
“I believe there were no gas chambers.”
I believe Bishop Williamson represents the same wing of the Catholic Church that Mel Gibson and his father represent. It would be interesting to know what Mel and his father are thinking along about now. It probably won't happen, but if it did happen it would be interesting.
No one’s been murdered in or from our neighborhood in over a month now. That I know of. One fellow who was picked up down the coast about thirty miles in Mission, a small town where one of my family has a church, confessed on television with a quiet equanimity that over a ten-year period he had disposed of some 300 corpses supplied him by one narco gang. He would put them in tambos, metal drums filled with acids, and melt them away. When asked on camera how that work made him feel, he said: “I didn’t feel anything.”
My wife, watching the interview, said impulsively: “Kill him.” There’s no death penalty in Mexico. Not one that is State-run.
It was difficult for me to understand how one of us could do what this man, his name is “Meza,” would be willing to do, though the pay was pretty good. Six hundred dollars a week I believe. I didn’t know what to think. I couldn’t quite identify my reaction to Meza. It took a while. And then I understood. That’s who we are. That’s how Americans can devote themselves to intentionally burning alive hundreds of thousands of civilians for a greater good. It’s how Israelis can morally justify brutalizing and murdering Palestinians. It’s who we are. All of us. We have that violence inside us. Circumstances, ideals, memory bring it forth. More than a million Iraqis have been murdered during the last few years. That’s who we are, that’s who they are. When the moment comes.
I’m doing fine. Everything considered. The other night I went walking, which is part of the treatment in its own way, and while I was resting at a bus stop memory somehow recalled a time when my wife and I were alone in Hollywood. Sitting there on the wire bench, something interesting happened. I got an erection. What a surprise. When the docs are slamming you with chemo, that stuff fades away. Walking back to the house I had to put one hand in my pocket to not give myself away. And then that same night I discovered in the bathroom mirror that hair is beginning to grow on my head. What a day!
With regard to the cancer, we’ll find out the real story the second week in February, just in time for my 79th birthday.